RWBY: GHS Chronicles
by Henzukaya
Summary: The GHS Chronicles are a series of stories which follow along with and explore the history behind most of the key characters featured in my main series, RWBY: Grimm, Heroes, and Shadows. Curious about Azure's guilty past? Or who Lady Elmont, that one character I mentioned once, is connected to? Or why Seraphina is mentally unstable and possibly psychotic? You're at the right place.
1. From The Ashes

_What is my name?_ That lone question forced the unnamed one to open his eyes and take in the darkness surrounding him. With glassy eyes, he drifted through shadows, like a raft down a stream; aimless. The silence made him realize his own faint pulse. It rang in his ears, but covering them only made the pain grow. Giving in, the unnamed one let himself be pulled away with the tide of emptiness.

 _Alone. I am alone. I am... Who am I?_ Amidst the deep recesses he found himself in, thoughts and worries plagued his mind. The panic from his lack of memories sent his heart into a frenzy. But in time he gave in to the nothingness. If he could not recall anything, then perhaps it is for the best. The unnamed one swallowed and let out a sorrowful sigh. _If that is my verdict, then why does it still hurt?_

The pulse that echoed in his ears without end quieted. In its place, a crackling and snapping of sparks and fire. Growing from faint sounds like a thump in the middle of the night into something he couldn't ignore. Something was on fire. Something was burning. _No, everything is burning. Everyone is burning. Oh God, the fire, the billowing flames. It devoured everything in its path. The fire, it burns, burns, burns! Help me! Please, end this chaos! Kill-_

"Shh shh shhhh." A woman cooed. "There is no need to panic. You are safe, child." He awoke, sweaty and frantic. The nameless boy scurried away from the pale witch kneeling before him. He knew that his memories were best left untouched. He never wanted such agony. His widened amber eyes couldn't pull away from the fireplace behind the mysterious figure. His mind raced with fears of the flames erupting forth, spreading across the floor and the walls and the ceiling. Everything it destroyed would be reduced to ash.

"Be still, child. You need not be afraid." The woman said. Her tone sounded motherly before, but now she acted cross. He obeyed nonetheless, curling into a ball. _No, it will be too late. The flames will cover everything. It was only a matter of time_. His skin felt cold, but the chill was a sensation he welcomed. The woman rose from the ground, expression dry. She glared at him, staring into his eyes.

"Is there no anger within you? Not even the tiniest sliver of rage... Without the flame of passion to stoke... You are of no use to me." She turned away, and as she sighed, reality crumbled all around him. The woman, the room, the fire, it all melted away. The unnamed one raised his frozen, pale fingers. They flourished with life and warmth. He squeezed them tight, holding them over his heart. This isn't what he wanted. He didn't know who he was, not even his name. But he knew that all he wanted to was to pass on. Then the pain would cease.

 **(-)**

"He's coming to!"

The unnamed one released a low and quiet moan. He opened his eyes, trying to see his surroundings. Cloth. A wooden post. As the blur of his vision faded, he realized where he was; a tent. A pale light shone through a crack in the ceiling. He reached out to it, wincing from the pain shooting up his arm. _Pain and agony. I am alive_. He let his arm fall to his side, head turning over to stare at the fabric of the tent _. I am alive, but I don't want to be._

"He's alive!" The feminine voice he heard earlier exclaimed once again. Her voice was soothing, enchanting. He ignored it, eyes closing. "Leif, he's alive! He's going to make it! Hold on a moment." She reached around, pulling him up partway. Now he sat, half dazed, while the girl examined him. "There, that should be more comfortable. Thank goodness we made it in time." His mind was swimming, a million questions swirling in his head, yet his tongue remained beyond his control. Even his lungs did little more than inhale with incredible lethargy. "Leif, he's going to make it!" The girl shouted once more.

"What are you doing?" A male asked in a stern, almost cruel tone. "You should keep him lying down."

"O-oh. I-I thought that maybe... He would be thirsty..." She stammered, cheer deflated from her voice.

Silence from the male, until "Help him drink then leave him be. He needs to rest, sis." The unnamed one began to mumble, trying to say anything coherent. But barely a whisper escaped him. The girl responded with haste, fetching something. He felt an obect being pressed against his lips, then a liquid splashing against them. The moisture made his dry mouth quiver with unfathomable thirst. He slurped as much of it down as he could. The water rejuvenated his aching throat, but did nothing to mend his voice.

But with his thirst quenched, clarity came to him. He opened his eyes and saw more with clearer vision. And the first thing he saw was a gorgeous young woman staring back him. Her eyes, a gentle yet sparkling lime green, were filled with concern. When she smiled, it was like clouds parting, allowing glorious sunlight through to shine on the world. Her hair was the color of lush meadows, long and straight, with curving braids keeping her viridian locks parted from her fair, rounded features. Although she dressed in the common apparel of a traveler, he felt certain the girl could blend with nobility without difficulty.

"Willow. I _said_ to leave him be." The harsh tone declared again. Though he longed to stare at her more, the male spoke of the truth; he needed rest. Already his eyelids flickered from drowsiness. The unnamed one could feel his consciousness slipping away. The last thing he saw was the girl turning, a sad smile on her face, and closing the tent flap behind her. With the last of his lucid thoughts, he prayed to see her again.

 **(-)**

How strange that time becomes so transparent when one is sleeping. The nameless boy lie awake, unable to recall how long he had slumbered _. Have I been here a day, a week, or mere minutes?_ He stared through the narrow gap in the makeshift ceiling. He could see the skies above, just a crack. A vibrant orange; sunset or sunrise, he wasn't certain. The unnamed one wished he had more to study than the common supplies and fabric of the tent. Something that could take his mind off his terrorized thoughts.

Though he had rested, his dreams were haunted. He could not stop thinking about fire. Even without memories, it wasn't hard to deduce that flames were the cause of his injuries. The wrappings his caretakers replaced on a regular basis covered his entire left arm and part of his face. He tried to raise his arm, test his recovering strength. But the resistance his arm gave told him it wasn't from frailty, but exhaustion. A growling from his stomach brought to mind an incomparable hunger. _Had I starved before they found me?_

Suddenly, a sound he ignored up til now filled his ears. Something bubbling, the sound of swirling liquids with bobbing contents, audible over the faint crackling of fire. His stomach twisted, sending spikes of agony coursing through him. The unnamed one tried to pull himself off the bundle of blankets, but being drained of energy made the feat impossible. He feared laying there for what would feel like an eternity before the food would be ready, until a voice, the male, rose over the sounds of cooking.

"Get around the sides of the pot, sis. Don't miss any of it, or else the vegetables will stick and burn."

"I know, I know!" The girl chided. "I've been cooking just as long as you have." _So they're related? But why are they out here, wherever here is?_

The brother gave a dry laugh. "That explains why neither of us can cook." The sound of wood smacking skin rang in his ears. "Be sure to give him plenty of water alongside it. It's not good to eat while dehydrated." Now he heard water being poured into a dish, most likely the same basin from before. A long silence followed after, neither saying a word for several moments.

"Leif?" The woman began. _I think her brother called her Willow? So then the brother is named Leif. What odd names. How lucky for them._

"Yeah?"

Willow paused, hesitant. "How much longer before he can walk again?" The nameless boy's ears perked up at the mention of moving. Leif sighed.

"About a week, maybe longer?" The unnamed one released a low and quiet sigh, relieved. That sounded sooner than he suspected. "Your knowledge of herbs is really mending his burns, but they're still pretty bad."

"Have you ever seen anything like it?" The air was thick with tension.

"Can't say I have. It's a miracle he's even alive, considering the ruins we pulled him out of." Leif paused, releasing a sigh. "The fire aside, the Grimm have ravaged this place. It's like this place was wiped out of existence. Nothing remained."

"He remained." She reminded with hope. "He's still alive, Leif, so you don't have to sound so grim."

"I'm just saying. The sooner we leave, the better." The unnamed one couldn't fathom how decrepit the remnants of whatever place existed there. It made him wonder how he managed to pull through until they found him. Then the thought occurred that maybe he wasn't meant to survive. If it was wiped off the face of Remnant, then perhaps all memory of it should fade away. The nameless boy gave a sigh. He was fine with dying. But the tiniest of voices in the back of his mind screamed out _. I don't have memory of this place. I don't need to die. Some things are better left forgotten and untouched._

The flap of the tent opened, and the boy's head perked up. Willow lit up and said "You're awake! That's perfect. Here, you must be starving." The growl from his stomach verified her statement. The woman knelt down, stirring the concoction. With a wavering hand, the unnamed one reached out and placed his hand over hers. At first, she was confused by his gesture, until he tried to pry the spoon from her. This was a challenge he put himself up to; to test if he was capable enough to feed himself.

The nameless boy focused his eyes on the bowl she held. He dipped the spoon into it and tried his hardest to scoop some of the solid contents. But he ended up sloshing the broth around, almost spilling over the edges. He gave up, settling for a dribble. Willow watched him, ready to assist at any given time. It should have bothered him, made him feel humiliated, but it didn't. He pulled his spoon to his mouth with great care. However slow it was, progress is progress. The soup washed over his tongue and mouth, giving him a precise understanding of how awful and hot it was. He sputtered after swallowing, coughing without end.

"Ahh, I'm so sorry!" Willow cried out. She almost stood up, but caught the bowl on her lap in time. "Wait right here!" The nameless boy wanted to point out that he couldn't do anything else, but his singed tongue and coughing would not cease. She returned a moment later with the same basin from the other day. As gently as possible, she tipped the edge against his mouth, and he sipped the refreshing water. Then chugged it, drinking as much as possible to wash away the dreadful taste. The bowl emptied too quickly, he felt, but it was plenty still.

"...Thank you." He whispered coarsely. The nameless boy was surprised by how low his own voice sounded. It felt unnatural. His puzzlement left him oblivious to Willow's growing smile.

"You're very welcome." She replied. The woman watched him closely as he continued his meal. He felt it would hurt her to refuse the soup due to horrible taste alone. That and he felt ravenous. He ate without complaint. "My name is Willow. What's yours?"

"Fi-" He choked, finding himself unable to breath for a moment. His heart throbbed, and it felt like it might explode out of stress. Some distant voice in his head reminded himself _No, that's not right. That wasn't my name after all_. "I don't have a name."

Willow blinked in surprise. "I'm sorry." She murmured, looking away sadly. "Do you... remember anything?" The nameless boy shook his head. The topic made him feel empty and alone, feelings that seemed comforting at the time. He stared at the empty bowl in his hands, and a second later, it all blurred before becoming dark. He heard Willow cry out, but she sounded so distant somehow. "Ahh, I'm so sorry! I'll leave you to rest." He wanted to protest, but his mind was slipping faster than ever. The words wouldn't come forth. But he still had so much to say, so much to ask. All he managed to mumble before falling asleep was a single word.

"Why?"

 **(-)**

Awake again to the familiar sight of tarp and fabric surroundings. The sliver of sky was blue now. A cloud passed by. The brightness hurt his eyes. _How many days have passed this time?_ The unnamed one turned his head to see no change in other objects. The same bundles of clothing and blankets as before, the same backpacks as before, the same pots and pans as before. While wondering if anything had changed, an idea popped in his head. As swiftly as his hand allowed, he undid the wrappings encasing his left arm.

Burn scars stared back, riddled all over his arm. They stretched to the base of his palm, too. Two kinds of gooey pastes dripped from his wounds. Waves of pain spiraled up his arm suddenly, the open air stinging the vulnerable flesh. His arm quivered and throbbed, but the pain numbed after a short while. The empty feeling inside of him grew. _If only I didn't have so much time to think to myself_. The nameless boy yearned for a distraction.

"Do you ever get tired of long hair?" He heard Leif ask. This could be the distraction he needed. As Willow answered him, the unnamed one struggled to get off the bedding.

"Why would I get sick of it?"

"High maintenance, knots, annoying to wash?" He got to his feet, and although they quivered like branches during a mighty gust, his legs stayed standing. The nameless boy trudged his frail legs forward, slowly at first. Once he felt he could walk without falling, he put a hand to the tent flap and pulled it back ever so slightly. Willow pointed a hairbrush at her brother.

"But you see nothing wrong with _your_ hair?" She asked with a sneer.

"Nope, not a thing." Leif replied quickly. Ash veered his head so he could get a better view of the brother, whom until now he had never seen. Sitting on a log they presumably used as seating, he was dressed in hard leather clothing, more for protection than style. A thick sword with a wide base at his side and a carving knife in his hand, he carved away at a hunk of wood. The hair he was quick to defend was unorthodox as Willow implied. A strip of moss green hair running from the back of his head to hang over his forehead, like a mohawk drooping forward. The rest shaved clean, his hair hung between a pair of piercing yellow eyes, too sharp to be golden. A hooked nose, with a jawline square and pronounced. If it wasn't for how he interacted with his sister, he might pass as a thug.

" _I_ think it might be due for a cut. And for the record, I will never have my hair short. I love it long." She grinned while brushing it more. "The perfect length for braiding."

"So that's your ulterior motive." Leif sighed and put his tool down, motioning for Willow to come. With a clap of her hands, she rushed forward and sat on her knees. The brother got work, fingers gliding through her meadow green hair. They were turned away from the tent the nameless boy watched them from, but he felt it wrong to spy on them. And so, he approached the log opposite the wood pile as they conversed. Neither took notice of the silent adolescent.

"How did you get so good at braiding?" Willow asked, playfully drumming on her legs.

"Hold still, you. I've been your big brother for years, and you think I wouldn't pick up a skill or two about taking care of you?" He smiled, his faint scowl fading. "Back when I was training at Haven, Flora, my team leader, begged me time and again to braid hers for her. Apparently, _I_ had the golden touch. She whined whenever she had to do it herself. And as for Odile and Roderick? They-" The sudden pause made the unnamed one glance up at Leif. The smile cracked, his eyes trailed away.

"Hey, Leif." Willow called out, grabbing her brother's attention. "Can you tell me about Mom again?" The unnamed one watched Leif's shoulders rise and fall. He looked down at his own hands, wondering if he had any family. Wondering what they might be like. _Would they have valued me, as these two treasure each other? Would I have valued them?_ The stillness in his heart at the thought gave him his answer.

"Aurum Fairgrove." The brother began. "Not a lot in Mistral that didn't know that name, especially in our neighborhood. We weren't rich or anything, but we got by fine. Back then, neighbors helped each other with everything, but our mother was the most zealous about it. Always pressing others for chores they needed help with, always a hundred percent of her effort into everything she did. Especially loving our father and taking care of us. Despite being the Summer Maiden before you, the quiet lifestyle just wasn't in her nature. She kept her powers secret, but definitely attracted attention to herself in the way crazy moms do."

Willow elbowed his gut, forcing a choked laugh out of her brother. While his fingers tugged at her hair with the gentleness of a breeze, he continued. "Mom was intense; radiant and beautiful, but you could only handle so much before you had to look away. Just like the golden sun she was named after. Hell of an arm on her, too. She wouldn't let me get away with anything. I quickly caught on the price of misbehaving with her around. At first, I thought she was just mean with flashes of nice on rare occasions. That changed when you were born.

"I saw a side to her I'd never seen before. She became warm and gentle from that day on. But I realized years after that it wasn't a sudden change. Mom had always been like that. She really loved us. That's why she was hard on us, so we would know discipline. She wanted so badly to see us grow into fine adults, I still recall how proud she looked when I started training at Haven."

"Why don't I remember her being mean like you do?" The maiden asked.

Leif scoffed. "Because you were a straight up suck up. Mommy's girl to the bone. She never got the chance to discipline you cuz you never did anything wrong!" The nameless boy could see more of her braids complete. He was almost done. "I see so much of her in you. That kind, selfless side of her."

"Your mother sounds like a wonderful person." The unnamed one stated. Following his comment, Willow gasped and hid, while her brother reached for his weapon. The blade sprung outwards, extending to the length of a spear. From the center, the missing sides of the sword extended into position, leaving two long holes running along the center. With the tip touching the tip of the nameless boy's forehead, he stared back unblinkingly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

Leif groaned, returning his greatsword to its retracted form. "What are you doing up?" He barked.

"Oh no, your arm!" The maiden cried. She ran to his side, examining the loosened, hanging wrappings. "Why would you undo them? They're not fully healed!"

The nameless boy blinked. "I'm sorry."

Leif sat back down, glaring at him. "You should be resting."

"Sorry."

"Quit apologizing! It's annoying."

The unnamed one held his tongue. He wanted to apologize again, but with that restricted, he didn't know what to say. Willow continued working on his arm, reapplying more cream of some sort, new bandages around his limb. He watched her go, unable to look away from her dazzling beauty. Something wrenched his stomach asunder. _Was it gratitude? Love?_ It wasn't a pleasant emotion. The nameless boy frowned. He wanted her to stop, but knew he could not say it without hurting her feelings. But he still pitied her, in a way. He felt it was a waste of her energy, a waste of her kindness. _What is the word for that?_

"Hey, kid." Leif pressed. "What's your name?"

"He doesn't remember, Leif." The maiden replied sadly.

"Let him say it, then. Who are you?"

The unnamed one stared at the woodpile between the two. _How many times have I asked myself that?_ He met Leif's gaze, staring past the distrust in his eyes. "I don't know."

Leif scowled. "Where you from?"

"I don't know."

"What happened here?"

"I don't know."

"Any family who would want to know you're safe?"

"I don't know." His repeated answers made the elder sibling more annoyed. But there was no other answer to give. His mind was blank; the missing memories in his head tied to a sense of pain and fear. When Leif stopped asking questions, the nameless boy lowered his gaze to the pile of wood surrounded by rocks. The bundle sat upon a heap of ashes. Fire. His arm throbbed again, but he ignored it.

"You look to be about twelve." Leif mentioned. "Course, with how bad of a state you were in, it might've stunted your growth a little."

"Then I am twelve." He answered. The nameless boy couldn't see the elder sibling's twisted expression of anger.

"What is wrong with you, kid?!" He shouted. "What if I said your name was Mud?!"

"Then my name is Mud."

Leif stood up suddenly, about to strike him. Willow jumped between them. "Stop! He's already wounded. He just needs more rest, that's all. I'm sure he'll remember everything in time."

The nameless boy closed his eyes. "Then you'd be better off leaving me to die here." He exhaled quietly.

"Don't say that." Willow insisted. "We'll get you right as rain."

"Wash his hair." Leif called out, turning on his heel and marching away. "It's still filthy. I'm gonna get us some food."

"Kay!" The maiden answered, already fetching a metal jug. "Don't mind him. He's been worried sick ever since we found you."

The unnamed one didn't reply for the longest of times. When she returned to his side, he asked "Could I have some more water?"

"Of course! Wait just a moment."

"There's not much else I can do."

"Oh... right." _Maybe I should've kept that to myself_. It sounded ironic, but he couldn't identify what was better left unsaid. At least, not the minor things. _But should I bottle it up, never to be revealed?_ His thoughts interrupted when she handed him the bowl from before. After a sip, the nameless boy leaned forward, staring at the faint reflection rippling away. His eyes seemed to glow in comparison to the rest of his face. Fine and short hair dirtied with loads of ashes and soot. He could make out more burn scars cascading down the left side of his face and around one eye.

"Close your eyes." Willow reminded. The nameless boy ignored her request, even as the water washed over his head and down his face. Grey ashes and water fell and mixed into the bowl in his clutches. As water dripped from his nose, he could no longer see his reflection.

"Mud doesn't suit me, does it."

"Huh?" Willow asked in surprise. "Oh, don't read into that. Leif is just under a lot of stress." She grew quiet as she washed his hair. _What was she thinking about? Is now a good time to ask her_ \- "What did you mean? When you said it's better to leave you to... to... Don't you want to remember your real name? Your mother, and your father?"

"The ruins you both saved me from. They're behind us right now?"

"Y-yeah." The maiden answered. Her hands stopped, as though she paused to look back.

"I don't want to see them. It's better this way." The nameless boy heard her sigh with woe. _Was my tone cruel? I thought it sounded empty. Void of anything. Why is she upset?_ The water gushed past his face again, washing more of the soot out and into the bowl which he continued to stare at.

"That's... weird." Willow remarked. "I'm washing as hard as I can, but-" He felt her fingers yanking his hair, giving no response. "The ashes aren't coming out." Out of curiosity, the nameless boy grabbed at his hair, pulling the locks into his vision. The same dull shades of grey as the ashes in his bowl.

"Mud really doesn't suit me. It sounds like Ash is a better fit."

 **(-)**

The next few days passed quietly. Ash complied with the wishes of his caretakers, spending most of his time resting and recovering. Time, as always, seemed to fly by without measure, yet the burned one could recall counting every individual minute. But the most peculiar was his fondness for the name Leif had a hand in giving him. Ash didn't realize the weight a name carried, both the joy of individuality and the burden it brought. Leif had little complaint either, so it must be fine.

Ash fastened the bindings holding the bundle of cloth and its contents. The two siblings watched him in silence, Willow with concern, Leif with contempt. The burned one wondered if he was bitter about the clothes the elder sibling was forced to share. It could just as likely be the fact there would be three mouths to feed instead of two. Ash couldn't find it in him to blame Leif; it was he who forced the proposal onto them. Ash swung the bundle over his shoulder, faltering from the added weight. His limbs had yet to fully recover, but he insisted he was well enough to move.

"Are you sure it isn't too heavy?" The maiden offered with worry. "It's all right if you need a break from time to time."

"He's fine, sis." Leif scoffed, slinging his own pack on his back, triple the size of Ash's. And even then, he still carried more with his free hand. "You'll end up spoiling him."

"He's not a pet, Leif." Willow fought a laugh as she swung her briefcase at him. She smiled at Ash, who remained uncertain how to respond to such kindness. "Please, don't hesitate to tell us of any issues or troubles. Too much might wreck your body again."

"I'm fine." Ash replied, monotonous as a robot. "Let's get moving."

The maiden hesitated, turning her gaze from him to behind his back. "You're sure you don't want even a glance? It might've been the only place you could call home." Ash nodded. He remained determined in his decisions. This was the first and foremost, and as such, might be the most important. The burned one took his first steps forward, surprised by how encumbered the luggage left him. But he knew this single, heavy stride forward would be followed by more and more, until it would become innumerable.

 **(-)**

"No, no, these are still moist!" Leif groaned, picking through the branches and sticks Ash recovered from the woods. The burned one said nothing; Leif made it clear that day a week back that he didn't want to hear apologies or excuses. The elder sibling tossed stick after stick aside from Ash's outstretched arms. "Wet wood doesn't burn. These are no good. Remember, they should be no thicker than your wrist but no thinner than your fingers."

Ash nodded in understanding. It had been only three days since they set out from where he first awakened. They kept to the outskirts of woods, taking advantage of small clearings. The burned one found curiosity in the peaceful wildlife skittering about, yet held his head low and expression blank. He didn't like how solely by existing he took up space. He required sustenance. He required attention. All of which came from Leif and Willow. The debt he owed them only grew.

Ash returned to the sea of trees, looking carefully for the materials Leif required. His sleeves kept rolling down and over his hands. It became a chore for him to roll them back up. His shoes were too big as well, but considering it was all borrowed from Leif, notably larger than the adolescent, the burned one paid it no mind. They could have left him unclothed and barefooted. He saw little right in complaining. With his hand free once again, he reached out and considered a sizable branch. During his travels with them, strength returned to his arms and legs. But not completely.

He pulled back a fraction of the bark. Dry, perfect for whatever Leif needed them for. Ash added it to the pile. He stared up at the declining sun, squinting. His head began to muddle and he felt the drowsiness wash over him like a gust of wind. Ash felt ashamed in requiring sleep so often. Always drifting to slumber before sundown, but not today. He will push himself to stay awake. If his saviors could do so, then he must as well.

The burned one returned to show Leif his findings, awaiting his verdict. The elder sibling studied each one like he checked stains on the kettle and bowls. "Passable." He finally declared. Lifting the bundle from Ash's arms, a feat he himself could barely do, Leif tossed it to the side of the stone circle they assembled. Each time they set up camp for the day, the two siblings repeated that circle again and again. Ash still didn't know what it was for. _A charm?_ "Hey, sis, how are those potatoes comin'?"

Willow appeared holding a basket overflowing with the brown, dripping wet vegetables. "All cleaned off and ready for peeling!" The maiden chimed. Her brother nodded, shoving the basket and a bowl to Ash.

"Good. Make yourself useful and peel these." He said, thrusting a knife at him. Ash accepted it, but stared back, dumbfounded, causing Leif to grow irritated. "You _can't_ be serious."

"It's ok!" Willow chirped. She gestured for Ash to join her on the log adjacent the stone circle. The burned one complied. He enjoyed her company, but could not drown out the tinge of guilt he felt because of her. Because of himself, and how useless he is. The maiden grabbed a potato, and dug just beneath the surface with the blade parallel the vegetable. With a careful stroke, the earthy brown encasing it flew off, revealing the sandy white underneath. "Like that! Here, you try."

Ash accepted the knife and stared at the half peeled potato in silence. He didn't notice Leif watching him like a hawk. Slowly, the burned one repeated her motions, but must have done something wrong. The ratio of white to brown on the discarded peels was much greater than when Willow did it. Nonetheless, she watched him with a glow in her expression. But Ash disregarded her joy, the entirety of his focus on the vegetable in his grip. More and more of the skin peeled back and fallen to the ground. As another piece began to fall, he caught it, frowning.

"We don't need those." Leif muttered, stacking the wood on the stone formation. "We don't need to be frugal with things like that." But now Ash's curiosity could not be quelled. He needed to know. And so, he nibbled and chewed it, face scrunching from the awful taste. As Willow chuckled, her brother commented "Exactly. You're welcome to more if you want." When Ash tossed it to the ground swiftly, Leif continued. "That's what I thought. Huh, sundown's upon us. Let's hurry it up."

Leif began to do... something with the woodpile, but Ash wasn't paying attention. For the time being, he put all his focus on the action occupying his hands. Something burned inside him, demanding his performance to be flawless. He tried again and again, with great care and a steady hand, peeling the vegetables. Willow sat at his side, watching his handiwork with bright eyes. Ash paid her no mind; nothing could pull him from the movement of his hands guiding the blade. At least, he was certain nothing could.

Though his ears refused to register it for the longest of times, the sound of flames crackling, of something burning, could not be ignored. With wide eyes, Ash looked up to see the woodpile in flames. The fire, the ever burning embers, they licked the surface. They reached out, eager to grasp and destroy anything within reach. His mind screeched to a halt, hands shaking. He could not look away from the fire a foot from his face.

"No!" He cried out, emptying his hands and scurrying back. "No! _No!_ " Both his companions said something, but his ears drowned it into something incoherent. To Ash, all that is and was around him was the billowing flames. Tears rolled down his cheeks as his pupils contracted. His pleas became slurred as panic crept in. _The fire devours all, nothing can stop it!_ Something hit the back of his head, figures danced in the shadows cast by the fire, all while Ash's grip on sanity fleeted. Something cold and wet washed over him, forcing his eyes closed. The shock snapped him out of his trance.

The burned one breathed in and exhaled rapidly, eyes skittering between whatever he could make out. He found himself against a tree, the fire out of sight. Ash learned of Willow's face inches from his, riddled with worry. The maiden's eyes almost watered. Like lightning, Ash clung to his left arm, gripping the burn wound, still fresh. His ears recovered next, twitching from the sounds his now lucid mind could comprehend. Willow shouted his name without end, a hand on his shoulder. After seeing him calm, her fingers cascaded over his cheek.

"Everything is fine! It's all right, Ash!" She called out. Her voice quieted into a lulling coo. "It's ok. There's nothing to fear."

"Dammit." Leif muttered under his breath. He held an empty pail in his left hand. "Now I've gotta get more water from the stream. You two stay here, and keep the fire from dying."

"K." The maiden answered as her brother departed.

"The fire." Ash stammered. He tried to look past her, but he knew from the glow around them that the fire still burned. The light grew as dark set in. The sky phased through countless colors as it faded to black. Willow nodded.

"The fire is still going. It's ok, it's safe. It's controlled." The maiden offered a hand. Ash grasped it with his own, quivering. Her touch calmed his senses. She rose from the ground, hoisting him up as well. He could see the flames now. The burned one pushed back his growing dread. Keeping her eyes on him, the maiden guided him. "It's ok. Trust me, just trust in me."

Within seconds, Ash found himself sitting on the log, staring at the smoldering logs and the embers rising from them. Willow's hand locked in his helped a great deal. Leif still had not returned, leaving him alone with her, the quiet night air interrupted by the growing sounds of insects chirping ceaselessly. Ash swallowed hard and returned her hand. _This was what I was so afraid of? It's so small. How could something so tiny do..._ His shuddered, unable to finish his thought.

"Leif..." Ash mumbled. Willow stared at him, the potatoes in the basket ignored. "He said... He said it could d-die?"

The maiden nodded. "Yes. All fires die out. No ember lasts forever."

"B-but... It isn't alive."

Willow bit the inside of her cheek. "In a sense, it is. It's like- How do I explain this?" She offered him a potato, still unpeeled. He examined the pores and lumps. "This grew from the ground. It absorbed nutrients from the soil and the water and the sun in order to flourish. It needed that energy to grow. And we take it once it stops growing. It becomes energy for us."

"Then the fire-"

"The plants take sunlight and water as fuel. We take food as ours. Fire takes everything as fuel. It eats almost like we do, just slowly and endlessly."

Ash looked back at the fire. "But it's so small."

"Everything grows. Plants grow from tiny seeds. Even you will grow to be as big as Leif. But almost everything stops once they've all grown up. Only fire and the trees continue growing, reaching into the stars. But that takes years and years. Fire is fast."

"Fast?" Willow used a stick to prod at the fire. The flames licked it until the embers spread onto it. She pulled it out so he could study the charred surface. Puny embers still burned beneath the scorched surface, glowing like the stars. She set it on the ground shortly after.

"Fire burns only if there is fuel to devour. Once it's source of energy is gone-" As she spoke, the embers faded. "The fire fades as well." She finished. Ash nodded, but still didn't fully understand. It was difficult to comprehend flames as a living thing. "When a fire gets too big, it eats at everything it can, spiraling out of control. Then, it becomes a threat."

"Fire... Consumes..."

"And does nothing but. It has no distinction between wood and people, so one must always be careful around flames." Her words set his heart at ease. This is what destroyed his previous life. But it is not fire's fault. The flames destroy. The flames consume. Fire is gluttonous, in nature. Ash watched the fires burn and snap, little sparks floating skyward. Mesmerized. A question manifested in his mind. _How much does it hurt?_ And before he knew it, his left hand reached out. Warm, hot, formless. It hurt a little, engulfing an invisible barrier around his arm. Curious. But then it hurt more and more. His hand twitched and throttled from his mind screaming at him to pull it out. And still, he tried to grasp it.

" _No!_ " Willow gasped, dropping the knife and pulling him out. "Why would you do that?! I said to be careful!"

"The fire..." Ash whispered, looking to his hand. The sleeve was charred black, and his hand shook from the nerves being singed. "I... I'm sorry."

Willow sighed. "Please, don't do anything like that again."

The burned one stared back at the ground. "Ok."

"Promise me."

"I promise." A twisted feeling settled in his stomach. _Why does that feel so hard to say?_

 **(-)**

"Guys, look!" Willow shouted with glee, running ahead of the trail to the hilltop. "I can see the next town from here!" Ash struggled to keep up with Leif, who took big strides to catch up. The burned one broke a sweat to keep up, but once he did, he found the breath escaping from him. It was civilization, the first he had seen. After two weeks of travelling, the first signs of settlement lay before Ash's eyes. At least thirteen houses and huts within sight, all made up of the same, plain material. A simple fence surrounded it all.

"We made it." Leif said with a heavy exhale. "All right, let's see what they got. We can finally stop lugging these vegetables around." Ash had wondered why they carried so many vegetables of all kinds with them for so long. Far too much for three people. He discovered the two siblings left him while lost in thought. When he rejoined them, Ash discovered no signs anywhere in sight. There might be some closer in the center. "Ash." The burned one glanced up to see Leif glaring through the corner of his eye. "Let your sleeves hang loose."

Ash blinked. "Why?" The loose clothing made it harder to move and hold things.

"Just do it." He pressed. The burned one complied without another question. His cuffs now dropped past his wrists, settling where his hand gripped the pail of assorted carrots, potatoes, and onions. Just as they passed by the fences circling the township. The place looked empty. A mangy black dog sat outside a hut, the structure in question had a cloth flap for a door. Another had smoke coming from a poorly built chimney. Ash followed them as they approached one of the larger homes. A tarp, extended by wooden pillars from the house, shielded them from the sunlight pouring down.

"Is anyone here?" The elder sibling asked no one in particular. The inside was decked with open cupboards and shelves, all manner of objects, foods, and appliances filled them. A big woman with dreadlocks tied back emerged from the far door. "Ah, mornin' ma'am."

"G'mornin'." She answered with a slightly raspy voice. The woman studied the three. "You kids travellers?"

"Something like that." Leif replied. "We took a little too much for provisions. Was hoping you'd be willing to trade for some of your goods." He whisked out a carrot and threw it her way. The woman examined it, broke off a piece and ate it. Her eyebrows rose with surprise.

"Those're some good carrots. If the rest of your batch is that good, then honey, you can take what you like." Her eye shifted to Ash, who lowered his pail. His sleeve drooped over and he pulled it back up in reflex. The woman smiled at him. "Do you need some new clothes, pumpkin?"

"M-me?" Ash blurted, confused by her choice of labels. "N-no, I'm-"

"Nonsense. I had a son around your age, his clothes should fit you fine. Now hold a jiffy." She vanished further inside, returning moments later with a pile of neatly folded clothing. Plain and free of labels, brands, and other stylish markings. As if made by hand. "I'm sorry if they might not be to your tastes, but these'll be better than what you've got on now."

"Th-thank you." He stammered, accepting the clothing.

Leif turned from him to the lady. "How much of which did you want for those?" But the woman held up her hand in protest.

"Consider it payment for the taste test." She said with a wink, smiling as she bit off more off the carrot. Her gaze fell onto Willow, who had her hood up. She held a basket of parsnips and sweet potatoes against her right hip, all while staring at her wares. "And what were you looking for, little missy?"

"O-oh, umm..." The maiden shifted an eye towards Leif, then nodded with a tilt of her head towards the lady, who nodded in response.

"I gotcha, little lady."

"We'll take that, and that, and this." Leif declared, gesturing to a pouch of sugar, several bars of soap, and a jug of milk. "If you don't mind."

"Not at all, honey, not at all. I'll take the rest of those carrots and..." She studied the other vegetables they had, eyeing the tomatoes. Ash had to admit, they looked good. "Half of those tomatoes and a leek or two."

Ash put the clothes on a nearby shelf to gather the carrots, handing them to her. She thanked him with the brightest of smiles. "What happened to your son?" He asked quietly.

"Thank you! Best be on your way, now!" She said, quick to ignore his question. "Stop by the butcher on your way out! Tell him Ol' Melany sent ya!" The burned was about to repeat his question, unsure if she heard him or not. But before he could get a single word out, Leif yanked him out the door. He barely had time to grab the clothes Melany graciously gave them. The elder sibling smacked him upside the back of his head, startling him.

"Show some respect! Don't ask people personal questions like that!" Leif chided. Ash looked back, dazed.

"I don't...understand."

He sighed. "What do you think happened to her son?" Ash stared off, deep in thought. _He moved away, grew too old to stay with her? She didn't look that old. Then he must've-_

"Oh." Ash mumbled.

"Yeah. _Oh_. Next time, think before you speak. Let's keep moving." Leif barked. The burned one turned to take one last glance at Melany's house. He wished he could take back what he asked. But the past is the past; unchangeable, no matter how much one wished otherwise. He learned that the day he first woke up. Somehow, it felt like an eternity ago.

 **(-)**

Months passed. During this time, Ash had learned plenty; mostly about how to survive in the wilderness, but also about himself. Leif was surprised to discover Ash's adept reading and writing skills. He came to the conclusion that the burned one was well educated in his past life. But all memories of that life remained locked away. _As they should stay_ , Ash thought to himself.

All else he learned about the wild came from Leif's experiences and the rare books Ash hadn't even known existed until his fourth week with them. They had seven in total; a four book series that Willow loved to read from time to time, two books about the Plantae and Fungi kingdoms, respectively, and a final, outdated Remnant Atlas. Likely the maps Leif used to navigate and guide them. It would explain why they sometimes arrived at ghost towns on occasion.

The two books on plant life and fungi were indispensable for their travels. It was beaten into Ash's head that one wrong herb or toadstool could lead to certain death. But in time, the burned one's memory capacity allowed him to memorize the pages with ease. He never touched the novels Willow cherished; they looked heavily worn, as though a single touch would reduce them to dust. Leif never touched on the subject of their pasts. Ash respected their right to privacy, despite having literally nothing to hide from them.

But one problem persisted over all this time; the burned one had no clue how to redeem the sacrifices Leif and Willow made for him. They relinquished much to save him from the ashes, and even more to let him remain with them. To forfeit so much for someone so worthless... He never brought it up to his companions. This was something he must discover on his own. Ash glanced between Willow, cheery as usual, and Leif, grumbling as he studied the maps. Twilight was falling, the sign that they must set up camp for the night. _So why was Leif still marching forward?_

"The next village should be...twenty two miles away." The elder sibling cursed beneath his breath some more, never once looking away from the maps.

"It's over there." Ash stated, pointing down the hill. Leif pulled himself back as fast as lightning to see a town of average size. At least three dozen houses, lights already on in the windows.

"Perfect." Leif groaned with a roll of his eyes. Ash didn't know what was so wrong about their circumstances. If they were lost, a town meant directions. And a bigger town meant more people. He didn't see any reason for Leif to be so disgruntled, but followed him nonetheless. The elder sibling led the three to a small clearing at the bottom of the hill, but away from the town. Night closed in around them as they assembled the log seating and bonfire. The chill of night crept up the burned one's fingertips, yet they didn't light the fire.

"Willow." Leif began. It was one of few times he ever used her first name. _What's going on?_ "I need you to stay here, and stay hidden. Make sure nobody can find you. Only come out when I say. Understand?" The maiden, expression uncharacteristically grim, nodded. Her brother trudged onward, in the direction of the village. He dragged Ash by the shoulder as he passed by. "You, with me."

The burned one put up no fuss. He respected Leif's leadership and learned to do as he says without question. But Ash had nothing but questions. They had never done something like this before. _Was this normal? Or is it normal for them?_ He hurried his pace to keep up with Leif's. They strode into town, observed by none. They passed house after house, each locked tightly. _What's wrong with this town?_

"Listen carefully." Leif ordered. "Stay close to me at all times. Do not _say_ anything, do not _ask_ anything. And most of all, do not _look_ at anyone. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes." Ash answered, sounding ten times more certain than he felt. It was then he noticed how hostile Leif had become. Everything from his expression, to his eyes, even his way of walking, like a wolf baring its fangs. The burned one could hear music now. Music, and laughter. The faint sounds grew louder and louder, and he realized Leif was heading straight for the source. He stopped at one of the largest buildings of all; a tavern, according to the sign. The Malt Shovel. Was that a normal name for a bar? Leif entered without hesitation, forcing Ash to follow suit.

Upon entering, the elder sibling stopped. Ash learned why; the music screeched to a halt, everyone had stopped what they were doing to observe the newcomers. Even though he was ordered not to, the burned one glanced around. The bartender was scruffy and large, a sour look and a scar over his left eye. Bald and sporting a handlebar mustache, he glared at Leif, who glared back. There were two customers at the counter; one drunk and passed out, the other a ginger with combed back hair in common green clothing. Several television screens on the walls around the establishment, set to a music channel, muted.

Then Ash discovered what could only be the source of all the laughter. Roughly two of the tables and stalls were in use by lone customers. But three banquet tables were shoved together to seat over twenty men, all rough looking and well built. Their hair and beards were matted and filthy. Ash guessed none had seen a bath in weeks. With one exception. A thin man in comparison to his associates, fur lined vest jacket revealing scars all along his arms. Spurred boots on his feet with swords on either side of his waist. He had bright red hair, slick and spiked in a mohawk, and blazing eyes the color of fire. His stare made Ash feel strange, but the burned one passed it off and did not let it show.

The man he could only presume to be their leader watched Leif step forward. The bartender resumed the music, and everything returned to normal. Ash never strayed far from the elder sibling, who marched right up to the bald man at the counter. The ginger haired man glanced over and Ash saw glasses he didn't notice before. He turned away after a second, but the burned one felt the gaze of another still on him.

"I don't serve minors." The bald man scoffed.

"He's not a customer." Leif answered, tossing a lien card on the counter. "Scotch, down and frozen. Couldn't leave him outside, either. The Grimm would tear him to pieces."

"A Hunter, eh?" The bartender looked at Ash for a second. "Comin' right up."

A hand slammed onto the counter between Ash and Leif, and the burned one almost jumped. The hand raised to reveal another lien card. "A chocolate milk for the kid!" A man said in an excited tone. The leader of the small party to the side licked his lips and breathed on the two. Ash smelled alcohol in his breath. The hand then clamped tightly onto both of Leif's shoulders, who didn't respond. He stared ahead coldly. "It's on me, big guy."

"I don't think he likes chocolate milk." He replied in a dry tone. The stranger howled with a coarse tone.

"What kinda kid doesn't like chocolate milk?!"

" _I_ don't." Ash answered for him, earning himself a death glare from his companion.

The stranger wrapped an arm around the both of them and leaned his head forward. "Now, where are your manners, kid? Didn't your old man here teach you to be thankful for gifts?!"

"He's not mine." The bartender returned with his drink, skidding it across the counter. Leif caught it and downed half of it. The bald man also pushed a glass of chocolate milk towards Ash, but he never touched it. The ginger man with glasses moved away.

"Then why you draggin' him around where he don't belong?"

"Haven't you heard? Some time ago, they discovered something called Grimm." He took another swig of the alcohol. "Might be a couple thousand years, I dunno."

"Hah hahaha! You're a funny guy! So what brings you to ol' Riverdale?"

"Nothing in particular."

"Aww, don't be like that! Let me take a guess, I _love_ these kinda games. Ya got lost along the way and decided to come here for directions. Am I right?"

"Next town over is Ridgewood." The bartender blurted. "Seven miles East, can't miss it." Leif nodded in appreciation.

"Aw, c'mon, barkeep! Why you gotta be like that?"

"My bar." He replied with a shrug. "Go back to yerr friends, Flynn."

"Nice to meet you, Flynn." Leif said as he chugged the rest down the hatch. He turned and left, headed for the door, Ash close behind. But once they reached the exit, a thick arm slammed it shut. The owner was one of the muscle heads from Flynn's table, grinning.

"Now, c'mon, you're not done here." Flynn shouted. "Kid never finished his milk." The bandit marched right up, holding the glass of brown liquid, free hand in his pocket. "What's the matter, kid? You lactose intolerant?"

"What do you want?" Leif barked.

"To know where you got that stylish hair of yours." Flynn said with a sneer. "They say imitation is the greatest form of flattery, and I gotta say, I am most flattered. That fashionable hair of yours, mean look, and weapon at your hips is more than enough proof. You must _really_ wanna join the Crimson Raiders."

"I decline."

"Now, don't be like that. Your little friend can join too. Even if he doesn't like chocolate milk." Flynn poured the contents over Ash's head. The beverage dripped through his hair, down his nose and soaked into his clothes. But still, the burned one stared back with no change in expression, even as Flynn's entourage roared with laughter. The bandit leader watched the milk drip off Ash's nose with a grin, but his smile cracked, replaced with a frown. "I don't like your eyes, boy." He growled.

"Let us out." Leif commanded. Flynn shifted his gaze from the burned one to him, and was all smiles again.

"Now, hear me out." He began, walking in slow circles for all the tavern to hear. "You're telling me you don't want in my close circle of friends of compatriots-" The notion was met with a round of boos from his lackeys. "And that you want us to leave you alone. Even after all the nice things I've done for you."

"Are you deaf?" Leif spat.

"Well? I haven't heard a clear answer!"

"Yes!"

"All right." Flynn answered meekly. "Off you go. Bruno, let them through." The lackey, Bruno, looked puzzled, and began to open the door for them, watching his leader intently. But he froze, the door opened a crack, when Flynn continued. "On one condition." Leif turned his head enough to glare at the bandit leader, sickened by his arrogant smile. "Lick my boot." Bruno smirked, and the crowd howled again. All eyes were on the two travellers. Ash wondered what was so special about licking footwear and what kind pleasure it had for the wearer.

"How about you go fu-"

"Is that all?" Ash blurted over Leif. All eyes turned to the adolescent; Flynn's with amusement, while Leif stared at him in disbelief and disgust. The burned one stepped forth, wondering if this is something he could do to help his saviors. Then again, perhaps not. Something so simple, even an infant can do it. "Just one boot or both?"

Flynn cackled like a madman. "Now _that's_ how you grovel! Please, lick to your hearts content!" As the burned one knelt down, he couldn't see Leif glaring daggers at him, gritting his teeth. Ash stuck out his tongue and pressed it against the hardened leather. It didn't taste terrible, not enough to make him pull back. All the while wondering how one gains pleasure from this. Such strange people. "How's it taste, kid? To lick the feet of someone leagues above you?"

"Like dirt." He replied. His answer sent the rest of the bandit party into another laughing bout. Ash saw the bartender shaking his head in the distance. He couldn't see Leif's expression, but Flynn's was twisted. Not with joy or delight as Ash expected, but anger. The two stared each other down, though Ash never made any sort of facial expression. The bandit leader kicked him across the mouth violently.

" _Get out_. Get the hell outta here and never come back." Was all he grunted as Bruno shoved them outside. Rain had fallen since some time ago, and still poured down on the two travelers. Ash wiped the mud off his pants in vain. He realized later it would take a full wash to clean out these stains. After a final defeated pat, the burned one looked around, trying to find Leif in the blur of rain.

But Leif was already stomping off, towards the campsite with his fists clenched. Ash ran to catch up, learning his speed walking might not be enough to match the elder sibling's pace. _At least we got directions. And Leif got a drink, too. This didn't end up that bad. It could have gone much worse. So why is he upset? What reason does he have to be angry?_ The burned one continued to stare at his back, drenched wet from the downpour.

Leif came to a gradual stop, almost outside the outlying houses. "What. Was that." He murmured.

Ash blinked, tilting his head. "What was what?"

In the next motion, Leif grabbed him by his throat and slammed his thin frame against the wall. " _What the hell was that_?!" He bellowed. Ash gasped for air, and when his companion released his throat, the burned one coughed up a storm. Leif grabbed him by the neck of his shirt, smashing him on the wall again, blazing eyes inches from his. "What is _wrong_ with you?! Have you no sense of pride!?"

Ash opened his eyes, meeting Leif's livid glare with his own, passive and blank. "What good is pride?" He asked. His inquiry sent him crashing against the wall again.

"Willow saved your life!" He screamed. "She saw fit to nurse you back to health because she felt you were worth saving! _ACT LIKE IT_!" With a final thrust, Leif released him. Ash slumped into a heap, watching him leave. The burned one released a heavy sigh.

"That's what I can't understand."

 **(-)**

The rain never let up, pouring down on the town and dousing the forest. Ash followed Leif without a word. It didn't take a psychic to tell he was furious, but what the burned one couldn't understand is why. No, that wasn't the right question. Rather, it is the right question, but Ash knew he would be asking the wrong person. Leif made it clear he was livid with Ash's attitude and lack of emotion. But he didn't know why he should have attitude and emotion. Since the very beginning, from his earliest memories months ago, he had begged to know why he wasn't dead.

Ash slouched against the trunk of a mighty tree, shielded from the rain by its leafy crown. Leif sighed, studying the surroundings of the encampment they had left Willow at. Willow... She was at the center of all of this. She was the one who wanted Ash to live. She was the one who gave him life, in a sense. But what she failed to give him was reason to continue living. The burned one had assumed they would want something in return; compensation for what they had to give up. But therein lies the problem. _How do you place value on a human life?_

The only conclusion he had come to was that his life had no value. Indeed, he had no skills or assets to offer them. Even worse, Ash continued to leech off of them like some kind of parasite. Consuming without end. Forever a burden. The rainfall continued to crash down on the leaves and soil, masking most other sounds that might otherwise echo through the woods. It almost lulled Ash into sleep with how mesmerizing the steady sounds flowed endlessly. He pinched himself awake, curious what Leif was doing. _Why hadn't he called out to Willow yet?_

"So _this_ is where you're staying!" The familiar, enthusiastic voice of Flynn rang out over the sounds of rain. Leif jumped to an alert position, his sword unleashed to full size. But the thickness of the downpour hid the form of the bandit leader well, until he came into the middle of the clearing. A faint whistle escaped his lips, almost inaudible due to the rain. "Not very accommodating. How did you two plan on passing the night like this?"

"Get out of here!" Leif barked.

"So cruel, so feisty! You really would've made an excellent addition to my clique. But, there will be others in the future. And as for your own little dilemma, I've decided to help make your stay a little more comfortable!" Hands emerged from behind the trees, grabbing at both the travellers. Leif struggled against the ten people restraining his every movement. The rest of Flynn's gang approached from the shadows, cackling and snickering. The bandit leader clapped his hands together. "How comfy does a grave or two sound?"

"Get off me!" Leif howled. "Let go! You touch me and I'll slice your head off!" He spat at their oppressor.

"I like your fire!" Flynn applauded with delight. But he turned his attention to Ash, restrained by only one bandit. "But I'm not after you, Hunter. I'm after the brat." He stepped closer and closer, all the while Leif spouted insults and threats. The burned one never showed resistance, even as Flynn threw him into the center of the clearing. The rain pelted him, but paused when Flynn stood over him. "I really, _really_ don't like your eyes. Can't stand em. That's why I'm gonna carve em outta your head."

A normal person would have struggled and fought back. A normal person would have cried and pleaded. But Ash was far from normal; he didn't even feel like a person. Even after Flynn promised to torture and murder him. Even after he pressed his knees against Ash's chest, the weight crushing his lungs. Even with the dagger poised in Flynn's hand. Ash chose to do nothing but stare back. His lack of retaliation sparked more anger in the bandit leader. As the dagger reach the tip of the arc in its path towards Ash, he stared at the rain dripping from Flynn's hair and nose. His amber eyes trailed skyward. The dark storm clouds wept and wept, and he realized the lack of woe inside. Nothing but emptiness.

Screams pierced the sound of rainfall, and everything stopped; Flynn's attack, Leif ordering Ash to fight back, even the rain looked frozen in the gap created by the outbursts of horror. The burned one's eyes trailed over, where something darker than black chased down one of the bandits. Then another, followed by more. Gunfire lit up the shadowy wood, the flashes of light revealing the Grimm attacking. Ash felt a weight leaving his chest, only to realize Flynn left him. The bandit leader barked orders, all of which went unheard over the unfolding chaos.

The Grimm continued to attack. With what little light the gunfire provided, Ash saw the men fleeing, Flynn screeching commands, and Leif, now released, flying at the beasts. The Beowolves howled, and more joined the fight. The burned one remained in the mud, still as a statue. One Grimm closed in on him, glowing crimson eyes emanating viciousness matched by its snarl. Its jagged maw opened, revealing the sharpest of fangs. Ash only watched, same as before. But in time, the Grimm looked away in disinterest. Instead, it snarled at something else beyond Ash's vision and gave chase.

The burned one sat up, dazed and barely able to hold his head up. Everything had happened so fast, the entire commotion still unclear. _Why didn't the Grimm attack? Why didn't Flynn attack? Why am I still-_ His thoughts cut short as something encased him. Ash's eyes still couldn't make out much of anything, and his confused state of mind didn't help. But just as before, he waited. And waited. And waited.

The noise from beyond continued to echo in his ears. Rainfall and footsteps, made near inaudible due to the roaring Grimm and screaming bandits and gunfire. _Why does this sound so familiar?_ Other sounds became blurred with the combat, overloading his senses. Ash clamped his hands over his ears to block it out, but all for naught. Other sounds replayed in his head. There were two new sounds, more distinct than the others. Raging fires, the ever destroying flames. And a woman's voice, worried and pleading, calling out his name again and again.

" _Ash!_ "Willow shouted again. Ash's eyes opened lazily, the darkness pierced by her image. She pushed back the bindings covering him with ease, as though they parted at her very touch. "You're ok! Everything's going to be ok!" The maiden pulled him close, bringing clarity to the burned one's mind. The objects imprisoning him were roots, thick and heavy and immovable. Questions filled his mind. But they were flushed out with concern when two Beowolves surrounded them. Without realizing it, Ash wrapped his arms around her instantly, staring back at the malicious beasts. "Everything is going to be fine."

With her final, assuring declaration, thin roots shot up from the earth in great numbers. They skewered and stabbed into the Grimm, but the impossible events did not end there. The roots held firm, even wrapping around the beasts at a snail's pace. The ground beneath them gave way, and the plates of earth rose over them. With their final howls and snarls, the Grimm were pulled below as the earth buried them. Ash stared in disbelief, until he heard another Grimm approaching. Leif landed atop the beast, greatsword burying into its head. He looked tired, but his expression showed otherwise. With another swipe, the elder sibling felled another charging Grimm, a Boarbatusk. Ash watched him slay monster after monster in awe, unaware of the elemental anomalies unraveling behind him.

"Go!" Leif bellowed, glaring at him. "Take her with you!" Ash didn't even give him a response or anything. He whisked her away, dashing towards the town. His heart never beat so rapidly before. He had to get her safe.

 **(-)**

Ash was lucky to find the tavern had some rooms available to him and his companion. Even luckier that he didn't ask any questions about Willow. Ash slammed the door shut after getting the maiden inside, slumping back against the door in exhaustion. He hadn't been very active in his travels, and the burning in his lungs was proof enough of his weakness. He didn't care, so long as Willow was safe. He looked up to see her staring back, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Why did you leave Leif?!" She demanded. "He can't fight all of them on his own!"

Ash found his mouth dry. "I-" He stammered. "I-"

"We _have_ to go back!"

"No." Ash replied, his breathing returning to normal. "He wanted you out of harm's way."

"I know that!" Willow cried. "But I need him to be safe, too!" She broke into tears, falling back onto the bed. Ash stared at the floor, unable to think of comforting words. _No, I need to say something. This is important. This is for her._

"Leif will be all right. He's a Hunter." Ash himself didn't know what the term meant, only that the bartender called him that. Willow's crying quieted. "Hunters are strong, right?"

"No," The maiden replied. "He's not a Hunter. Leif was training to be one, but he didn't complete the training. He's strong, but I need to know he's safe."

"Hunters..." Ash began. "What are they?"

Willow looked up, her eyes red from crying. With a final sniff, she answered "Hunters are warriors trained to fight Grimm. Grimm are everywhere, and attack everyone without mercy. The threat they pose is higher than anything else, even... Even murderers and criminals." The burned one looked away. That explained why the bandits fled at the first sign of Grimm. Sure, they came upon a couple that Leif disposed of quickly, but not whole hordes like that. Ash remained quiet, for a time. But the other events of that night ate at his mind.

"What was that? With the roots and the ground." His question caused Willow to shiver, only for a moment. She shuffled in discomfort, glancing to the window. _Perhaps it is too sensitive of a topic. I'm still nobody to them, after all-_

"I..." The maiden began, hesitant. "Have you heard of Semblances?" Ash shook his head. "Everyone has one, tied to their Aura. A special power unique to them. Some people..." She fiddled with the buttons on her coat. "Very few people have powers... beyond that. Beyond a single Semblance. Beyond imagination. I'm one of those people." He said nothing, unsure of how to respond. "It's... complicated."

She went on to explain it all to him. About the Maiden's powers, the dangers it brought, and of the people that would hunt her down for a chance at that power. Willow said it was the reason she and her brother were on the run, living out in the wild. Away from prying eyes. Leif promised their grandfather to protect her from the people who crave the Maiden's power. And so they traveled the world together, never staying in the same place for very long.

She didn't have a full grasp on her abilities. Willow mainly used her command over nature to make vegetables grow at abnormal rates. The abundance of food was a burden off their backs. And any extra food they sold for meager amounts of lien to purchase other goods. They had lived like this for three years, and although they had their fair share of hardships, the two never gave up. Their resolve made Ash wonder about his own, rather, that which he lacked. Her story stirred countless emotions within him; pity, determination, curiosity.

"Why did you save me?" He found himself asking. Willow blinked at him in surprise, as though she never thought on it.

She shook her head as she smiled. "I didn't. Leif did."

As though responding to his name being mentioned, Leif burst through the door, pushing Ash aside. He looked exhausted and soaked to the bone. Willow jumped at him, unable to contain her relief and her joy. She hugged and held onto him as though she feared he would fade into mist. Leif slumped to the ground, dropping his sword. The baggage he carried with him crashed to the floor.

"The Grimm..." Leif mumbled through heavy gasps for air. "They... They're all... dead. We're safe. The town's... safe." As Willow thanked whatever forces brought him back in one piece, Ash was overcome with relief. Not just for his safe return, but for bringing peace of mind to Willow. He enjoyed seeing the two siblings acting with such care for each other. _It felt right, perfect. But where do I fit in?_

"Leif." Ash stated, grabbing his attention. The elder sibling's gaze was no longer a glare, but one of thanks. But Ash didn't want to be thanked. Other duties mattered more. "I want to become a Hunter." The declaration shifted the atmosphere, both siblings watching his expression. But the burned one held on to his resolve.

"Why?" Leif asked.

"I'm weak." Ash admitted without shame, more like stating a fact. "I can't protect Willow if I'm weak. I want to protect her." He clenched his fists, the firmness in his tone growing. "I've a debt to the two of you. And I realize this will only make it grow, but I want to return the favor. If you were to fall in battle one day, who would protect her?"

The coldness in Leif's gaze returned. "Your heart's in the right place, but listen. You're a little late. You can't be a Hunter without training for it from a young age. Younger than you are now."

"Is... Is there really no way?" Ash mumbled, gaze falling. _No, I won't accept that._ "There has to be another way."

Leif rose from the floor with the support of his greatsword. "Very few people without the proper training are accepted into Huntsmen Academies. Only those showing great promise and skill can make it. More so than those that studied. If you're that determined..." Ash nodded, his gaze locked onto Leif. I have to repay this debt. _My life isn't worth anything, but maybe I can change that if I devote it to protecting her_. Leif smirked, sitting back on the other bed and letting out a sigh. "We'll stick around for a bit. Get you properly equipped. Then we'll start your training in the morning."

Ash nodded, thankful to be given a chance. "I won't let you down." He assured the two _. I won't. I can't._

 **(-)**

Back in the clearing, with the light of day shining down upon Ash and Leif. The air was thick with the ever present eerie atmosphere. One couldn't tell that the evening prior a horde of Grimm were slain. Even the soil beneath his feet looked fine, contradicting his knowledge that two Grimm in particular were pulled beneath to never walk the world again. Despite this, signs of conflict were quite obvious; trees slashed, small footsteps imprinted in now dried mud, and weapons. A multitude of weapons, various types and sizes, littered about.

"Choose one." Leif ordered. The burned one looked to him with confusion on his face. "A weapon. Find one you think you'll be comfortable with."

"Right." He replied, grabbing at the closest one. A hand axe, the head lengthened to make it less of a tool for woodcutting and more of something to harm with. It slipped in his grip and fell to the dirt. Ash tried again, discovering the weight problematic.

Leif shook his head. "Too heavy. You haven't built up the strength for anything like that. But something too light might not be strong enough." Leif's comment showed his disapproval of Ash's next choice, a long and sleek curved blade. His fingers had barely touched the hilt, but he left it alone. Machetes, greatswords, and any other two handed weapons all seemed the least of viable options. And then, his eye caught sight of the thinnest blade of all; a rapier. What bandits were doing with such a frail blade was beyond him. _It's decorative so maybe it was some kinda of treasure?_

Despite Leif shaking his head, Ash pulled the sword from the dirt. It slid out with incredible ease. The weight felt lighter than a feather, figuratively. Much more easily wielded than the other, bulkier options. The way the hilt guard surrounded his hand, the feel of it against his palm. All natural and right. The burned one directed the tip to the sky, holding it close to him with his hands low. A test stab, followed by another, swift as the wind. The elder sibling whistled, but something was off. Something about this rapier wasn't natural. Or, too natural, if the idea made any sense. Looking down at the gem embedded hilt, a faint feeling crawled into his mind. And yet, it felt like it was there this whole time. Fear.

"No." Ash declared quickly, dropping the rapier. As the thin blade buried itself into the ground, hilt bobbing back and forth, he grabbed his shaking hand. "It's not right. Something about it... No." The sword had almost brought the locked memories to surface. _Too familiar. That's what it was._

"You have to choose something." Leif chided. "And of all these blades, that rapier was the only one you could actually hold. Not to mention, you look already versed in using it."

"No!" Ash repeated, in a voice so thunderous, even birds flew off from their roost. Staring at the ground, he continued. "I'm willing to do anything. But not that blade."

Leif grumbled to himself, scratching his head in frustration. "All right, we can worry about it later." He began scooping up all the weapons in his arms, rolling them all in a leather blanket. Throwing the bundle over his shoulder, he made his way back to town. "These still have value, at least. Maybe we can sell em for a high price and find you something you can tolerate." Ash nodded and followed, but stared at his feet the entire time in shame.

 **(-)**

"You're lookin' to sell _those_?" The Faunus woman scoffed with a half smile, as though the idea entertained her. Her doe-like ears bobbed with joy against her chestnut brown hair. "Good luck, kid. This is a small town, but we're close enough that we can call for a Hunter at any time. Hardly a need for swords and those here." She laughed, ivory eyes lighting up. The Faunus had fair skin, although her puffy dress gave the appearance of someone plump in body type. She didn't even test out any of the swords and other tools in Leif's bundle.

"There's gotta be someone here that could use one of these." Leif argued.

"Not many. Keep looking, though. You never know." The woman crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe of her house.

"What about a specific occupation? A Hunter? Blacksmith? There's gotta be a butcher or even a carpenter in this town."

"Course we got those! But that's not the problem. Riverdale's a small town. Not a lot of lien to spare around these parts. I doubt anyone would buy one of those for even half the price you'd be askin'. Although..." Leif raised an eyebrow, gesturing for her to continue. "One of the oldest families here is the hermit blacksmith. No family of his own, bitter as a bottle o' pills. But he helps the town from time to time, in a neighborly sorta way."

"That... sounds perfect." Leif sighed. "Where can we find him?"

"Now hold on, kid." The Faunus frowned. "Douglas ain't fond of strangers. Even neighbors he's unfriendly towards, which is why I didn't mention him. You'd have better luck inviting an Ursa to a tea party than gettin' Douglas to buy your goods."

Leif looked out towards the sky, watching the position of the sun in the sky. "We don't have much time, and I've gotta try something."

The woman sighed. "All right, fine. Just don't tell him I sent you. He lives near the outskirts of the northern side of town. Good luck, kid. You'll need it." She closed the door behind her, leaving the two to their devices. With little other choice, Leif strode north, Ash hot on his heels. The town looked much more alive now that it was late morning. Children playing in the street, people moving bulky items throughout town with the help of horses and oxen. A dog or two, yipping delightfully as they passed by. Ash hadn't seen so many smiling faces before.

"We really stick out." He commented.

"That's not a problem. We're travelers. We stick out everywhere."

Ash recalled how Flynn and his gang harassed them. "I guess..."

"Let's get back to important matters." Leif suggested. "You know about Aura."

"Yes."

"How to use the defensive properties correctly..."

Ash blinked, stating bluntly "Not quite."

"Then we'll use today for that. Unarmed sparring seems like the best way to do that. And toughen you up a little." Leif sighed. "I'm not gonna lie, you need a miracle."

"I'm aware. But I still need to go through with it."

The elder sibling smirked, nudging Ash's shoulder. "Let's see if that attitude can last. This looks like the place." The place in mention was a good deal bigger than the rest of the houses, with a sizable chimney billowing with smoke. The clanging of hammer against metal echoed off the walls. Leif stepped inside, and Ash followed, unsure of what to find. What he did find was a blacksmith's paradise. Stonework building, through and through, with everyone one would need to tamper with metal. A forge that scorched them with heat from the moment they entered, a barrel on its side, cut in half and filled it water, and an anvil right in between.

The walls and dome roof covered in all sorts of metalwork, the most frequent being weapons. Battle axes, swords, claymores, halberds, and shields mixed with the rest. But they all looked ancient. Leif and Willow made mention of a harrowing event long before their time. The Great War. _Were these relics of the past?_ Ash felt something club the back of his head, and he realized Leif wanted him to focus. The clanging rang louder than ever, an aged yet muscular man working the hammer. With a black tank top that revealed small bushes beneath his pits, and brown pants that ended above his ankles. His clothes were drenched in sweat, rolling off his arms and legs as well. The stench was something indescribable.

"Excuse me?" Leif shouted, to no avail. The old blacksmith continued pounding away at the blazing bright steel. Ash peeked over Leif's shoulder, discovering the old man wore a black bandanna, covering the top of his head. Grey hair poured out the back in messy streaks, not unlike Ash's own. The hints of a small beard lined the jaw, from how little he could see. "Hey!"

"Quit yerr yapping, brat." The blacksmith mumbled loudly in between swings. His gruff voice reflected his age, but the tone sounded tired and annoyed. "Heard ya the first time."

With a hint of annoyance, Leif protruded the rapier Ash couldn't bear to hold. "I was hoping you'd be interested in these!"

"I said to _quit yellin_ '!" Douglas shouted, finally turning his head. The beard was matched with a mustache of the same shade, big and bushy eyebrows above smoldering red eyes. He dropped the hammer haphazardly to the ground and shoved the sword back. "Ain't nobody here got use for weapons, punk."

Leif squinted at him, though whether it was to glare or just reflex from the heat waves, Ash couldn't put his finger on it. "There's Grimm."

"And there's Hunters like yourself to protect us from em. As I said, nobody in Riverdale needs a sword! A hoe or a rake, even a wood axe, but not a sword. Young people these days..."

"Then smelt them down for iron. What you do with them is up to you, I'm just looking to scrounge up so lien."

"You want lien, then put in some honest work, ya bum!"

Leif scowled. "Let's go." He told Ash. But the burned one was mesmerized by the glow of hot steel. The sparks that flew with every smack fascinated him.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"Mind yerr own business!" Douglas barked, turning to snap at him. When the blacksmith saw Ash, he froze for a second. His crimson eyes studied every surface of the scarred expression. "Tch! Get outta here, kid. I don't like yerr eyes." He mumbled, returning to his profession.

"I keep hearing that."

"Wanna know why? Eyes are the windows to the soul, kid. And yours're dead."

"Dead?" The notion of dead eyes both confused and intrigued him.

"Ya got no fire!" He bellowed. The words sounded strangely familiar, though he couldn't place his finger on where he heard it before. "No passion! No drive! Yerr like a walkin' corpse! Go and find a grave to die in!"

Ash ignored Leif yanking his shoulder. He shook off his hand, and with his fists clenched, the burned one replied. "No."

"What was that?!"

"I can't do that just yet. There's something I need to do. Someone I need to protect."

Douglas glared at the burned one. "Then yerr in the wrong place, kid. Weapons don't bring safety. They're made to take lives. To inflict harm. They're a burden, a responsibility."

Something clicked in Ash's head, like a light pushing back the dark and bringing clarity. "Is that why you have so many?" The blacksmith didn't have a response, not at first. Even Leif stared in silence at the two. Douglas wiped the sweat from his brow, drinking some water from a bottle nearby.

"These're different. Ain't nobody supposed to use these anymore."

"What's the good in a tool that can't serve its function?"

"A reminder." Douglas answered. The hostility in his voice left long ago. "There're tools for farming, tools for cutting and chopping. Tools that make life easier. Then there're tools of destruction. Tools for killing. Tools for torture. Tools that make life unbearable."

"A hoe and a rake can be used as a weapon." Ash pointed out.

"Anything can be. But a hoe's original purpose was plowing. Not bloodletting." Ash nodded, silent as smoke. Douglas ran his hands over his face. When the fires flashed brightly, Ash found himself staring at it. An idea formed in his head.

"What about fire?"

"Hah?"

"Fire's original purpose. No one can say for sure, but it's a destructive force. It can destroy and burn everything. But look." He pointed at the fires raging inside the forge. "Despite how dangerous it is, we use it as a tool. A tool that warms. A tool that purifies. How is this fire any different from the weapons hanging on the walls?"

"Not bad, kid." Douglas admitted with a chuckle. "But take a look at yourself. Those burns. You were hurt by fire. Aren't you afraid of it? Even a little?"

The flames continued to burn and crackle, Ash unable to peel his eyes away. "No. Not even a little. Were you hurt by swords?"

"Me? Naaah. I just didn't like that others got hurt because of em."

"Didn't they prevent some from harm though?"

The blacksmith nodded with a smile. "I suppose they did. Kid, what's her name?"

"Name?" Ash blurted, alarmed by the change in topic.

" _Her_ name. The name of the girly you wanna protect so bad." He smiled big and wide. "Can't fool ol' Douglas. Only two things men will go through hell and back for. Leisure and women. Sure, there's power and greed, but you'd be surprised the kinda leisure both those bring. It all boils down to those two."

Ash frowned. "Women don't bring leisure?"

" _Hell no_!" Douglas bellowed with a hearty laugh.

The burned one found himself chuckling. "Willow. Her name is Willow."

"She's the one you gotta protect more than anything?" He asked, to which Ash nodded. "Even if it means you might die?"

"Even so." He answered grimly. He knew of the consequences of giving up his life for her. And he didn't care. She was worth it. She was worth it tenfold.

"Now _that's_ some fire. I'll help you out, kid. I'll teach you to make a weapon that suits you just fine. Hey, punk!" He shouted at Leif, who flinched. "Gimme those swords and such. The metal from em will do just fine. Now, I doubt I'll need to repeat myself, but this work ain't easy. You sure this is what you want?"

"More than anything."

Douglas smiled from ear to ear, smacking Ash's back. "Good answer!"

 **(-)**

Over the next couple of weeks, Ash spent his time training with Leif, being tutored by Douglas, or collapsing asleep in between. The pitiful endurance from walking for months on end hadn't prepared him for anything close to this. But he never gave up, not even for a moment. His dedication knew no bounds, always pushing himself further and further. When you live for the sake of another, he learned, you're prepared to die. It's incredible what one can accomplish when you disregard any other desires but devotion. For Ash, this was more than training and learning. It was the thin thread which could redeem himself, one he refused to release hold of.

If anything, he discovered a soft side to Leif. The elder sibling worried more than once about Ash pushing himself too far. That it could be the death of him. It was those words in particular which slowed him down. He didn't understand moderation himself, and in a way, relied on Leif and Willow to stop him when needed. Something they had to do quite often. But after all that time, he was ready. The chain blades Ash had forged under Douglas' guidance, devices he understood inside and out, hung from his hands as he stared down his opponent.

Leif bobbed his greatsword off his shoulder, looking the burned one up and down with uncertainty. "Are you sure you wanna do this so early? I know you've made great strides, but this is going a little far, Ash."

The burned one tightened the grip one his right chain blade. "I'm sure." Real combat was the quickest way to learn how well his weapons worked under realistic settings. Pain is an excellent teacher. He was ready.

"All right. Come at me whenever." No sooner had the words passed his lips, Ash pointed the hookshot at his opponent and fired. The blade sprung forth at a remarkable speed. Leif sidestepped and avoided the attack. The blade dug into the tree a fair distance behind him, and Ash retracted it without thinking. He lost his center of balance for a second or two while flying towards Leif. From there, his mind went blank. Leif extended a foot out, and Ash crumpled against it. The rest of his weapon escaped his frail grip, bouncing off the trunk. "You can't expect something so obvious to not be countered."

Ash needed a moment before retrieving his lost weapon. Once in his grip again, he spun to his left, swinging his left weapon out. The chain blade wrapped around Leif's leg, and the burned one glowed with triumph. But then his mind paused again. With a sigh, Leif took a step back, yanking Ash forward and onto the ground. He didn't quite understand why this kept happening. During his spars against Leif, Ash always acted on the defensive. _Is it because I'm not used to be on the offense?_

"Attacking blindly isn't going to help. Neither will desperate attacks." Leif explained, picking Ash up off the ground. "You need to formulate a plan while in combat. Not just your next move, but the next five." But the ideas he was trying to explain wasn't getting through to Ash. The burned one tried to focus on his words. After composing himself, he attacked again. This time, with the bladed parts. But simple slashes were all he could muster. Ones too easy to read, he realized. Leif deflected his attacks without breaking a sweat, before kicking him back. "It's ok, Ash. These kinds of things take time."

 _Time? I don't have all the time in the world. Five years. I need to prove myself_. Ash rose from the ground, slow at first, but once on his feet, he paused. Leif had explained that reading movements was what allowed people to predict and avoid attacks. _So do I need attacks that aren't predictable? But they can't be random either. I need to plan them. How do I make something unpredictable but connected?_ Ash's eyes trailed down to his legs. Most attacks begin from the feet. Gathering momentum and energy to fuel for a stronger attack. They were what one should watch for incoming attacks.

Ash hunched over, approaching his opponent while low to the ground. The bewilderment on Leif's expression was a promising sign. His pace became swift, closing in on his target. _That's right, I don't need to be elegant. I don't need poise. All I need is to land the strikes_. With his blades outstretched, Ash charged. A rising diagonal slash, blocked off by Leif's heavy sword. But the burned one stayed low to the ground. After all, the less his opponent sees of him, the higher the chance of a successful blow.

Circling around, Ash went for a low backslash with his right blade. It clashed with Leif's Aura, a true strike. Before the elder sibling could react, Ash dragged his left through the air, slashing across his chest. His opponent looked back at him in surprise, and Ash knew he was doing well. _But what else?_ His mind couldn't think of an answer, and Ash found himself being kicked back again. He rolled back after tumbling over and over, the spinning making him feel nauseous.

"That's... better, but I don't understand what you're doing. It's not like a normal fighting style." Leif admitted, scratching the back of his head _. I'm not a normal person, and these aren't common weapons_. Douglas reminded him of that time and again. Ash realized he was just slashing madly; anyone with two daggers can do that. These are kinda like daggers and kinda like whips. _There's wasted potential,_ he thought to himself. _How can I use these to their fullest?_ Ash recalled his earlier attempts at using the extended forms.

He started a dash to the side, simultaneously firing his hookshot past Leif. The elder sibling watched his movements, confused but wary. Ash retracted the chain, pulling himself in the direction of the tree, but beyond Leif's reach. Mid flight, he swung his other blade from the chain, the additional range provided wrapping around his opponent's leg. It felt like his arm might dislocate itself in trying to pull Leif back. But even though the shock wave of resisting forces made Ash wince, Leif fell to the ground. Seizing the moment, Ash jumped off from the tree, a running start at his vulnerable opponent.

A deadly slash across Leif's body left Ash poised with his right blade held high. No, don't stop. Never stop. With his left chain blade loosened, he dragged it towards him, redirecting it's path to circle around him. And then Ash spun, to add more power behind it. When he stopped, the burned one swung down, sending the extended blade crashing down onto Leif. The sharpened edge dug into his back, and for several seconds, he didn't budge.

"Leif?" Ash mumbled, raising a hand to check the unresponsive elder sibling. A grave mistake, he learned too late, when Leif grabbed the burned one. In an instant, he was off the ground and sent Ash flying, as though he didn't weigh more than a feather.

"Not bad." Leif admitted, wiping dirt off his face and breathing heavily. "Nice moves, but it definitely needs some work. Spunk alone isn't enough to slay a Grimm."

 **(-)**

It was almost time. Five years had passed, and in that time, Ash had grown leagues; in both size and skill. Now, he was able to match Leif, but only when he went easy on him. Still a long ways to go. In preparation for his departure, the three had traveled as close to Vale as they dared. It was still important to keep Willow hidden from the rest of the world. Ash found himself watching her stir the pot. She had also grown, just a little, although her beauty soared in these past five years. Leif's greatsword hacked away at the opening created in his daydreaming state.

"Keep your eyes on your opponent, Ash." Leif reminded, smacking him upside with the base of his hilt. "A single mistake is the difference between life and death."

Ash recovered, standing up with his back slouched as usual, chain blades hanging from his hands. "Got it." He answered. Swinging the blade in his right hand, the burned one rushed towards Leif, body low to the ground. His opponent braced himself, but the sweat running down his face gave away his uncertainty. Leif had caught on since the beginning that Ash's fighting style was sporadic. And Ash made sure to keep it that way. It made it harder for the elder sibling to defend against his barrages.

During his charge, the burned one barreled towards his opponent, spinning his entire body. The blades chipped away at Leif's Aura as he flew by. Upon landing, Ash skidded one foot through the dirt, gathering momentum to throw out his left chain blade horizontally. It caught around Leif's sword, who raised it in time to avoid a greater blow. But Ash ran up and kicked his jaw from below. As Leif stepped back to recover, Ash pressed for more attacks.

Swinging his swords again and again, but more often than not, his blows were blocked. Until the burned one swung his right blade from the left. He spun himself again, holding both weapons together for a more powerful blow. It broke through Leif's guard, and his eyes tried to follow Ash's chain blades. They trailed up as Ash spun again, loosening his grip to allow them both to extend. Once at the proper length, he tightened his hold on the chain and swung them both over his head. Leif had hardly a moment to block.

"Ash, it's done boiling!" Willow called out. Like clockwork, the burned one retracted the chains, returning his weapons to the inside of his grey overcoat. And like that, the short spar ended. Ash accepted the ladle Willow handed him and began stirring the pot further. He grabbed at some of the spices they purchased a week prior, sprinkling them in. Next came a pinch of garlic and the sliced carrots. A skill he discovered later on in his travels; cooking. Apparently, he understood culinary arts far more than the Fairgrove siblings.

"Even on our last day, you still won't go easy on me." Leif exclaimed in relief.

"Hesitation is a dangerous action to make." Ash recited, recalling one of his earlier lessons.

"I still don't have a full grasp on what your fighting style is. It's not like anything I've ever seen back in Haven."

"You always say it's somewhere between how a shambling corpse and a feral animal attacks."

Leif plucked a carrot from the pile Ash had prepared. "Well, it's true."

"Are you excited?" Willow asked, cheery as always.

"Thrilled." Ash replied, tone contradicting his answer. It was around a month ago that he received the acceptance letter from Atlas. They had checked every post office they came to for months, hoping for any kind of update. And it had finally come. Just another step, and he can be a fully fledged Hunter. And from there, he can repay his debt to Leif and Willow. Just four more years. "Are you sure you two can wait four years?"

"We got by just fine without you." Leif muttered with a smirk, to which Willow gave him a light smack.

"We'll be ok." The maiden said with a smile. That smile of hers always shook him every time he saw it. "But, listen. Don't push yourself too hard. And... Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"I want you to have fun while you're up in Atlas. Enjoy yourself, and smile. Could you promise me that?" Smile. That was one thing he never really learned during his travels with them. Five years of the same, emotionless expression. _So it bothered her. I never knew._

"I promise."

 **(A/N: Hoo boy, big rant time. If you made it this far, congratulations, and thanks for spending the time to read this massive wall of text. This is the first of probably a dozen or two stories detailing the history and backstory of key characters from my main series, RWBY: Grimm, Heroes, and Shadows. With that out of the way, I wanted to declare a couple things.**

 **1\. I'm beating everyone else to this joke. _"Today's theme of the day is fire."_ Yeah, yeah, I reference fire, flames, and embers a _ton_ in this story. 73 times, to be precise. But it was the main inspiration for the character. **

**2.** **Don't expect this to update too often. Maybe once every couple of months or even half a year.**

 **3\. I realize the canon series has already identified and featured the Spring Maiden. I enjoyed making this fanfiction as close to canon as possible, but this is the part where it splits off.**

 **4\. If you have any questions or comments about parts of this story (criticism especially welcome), go ahead and leave them in a review or a Private Message and I'll follow up with From The Ashes: Q &A.**

 **Edit: I decided to change Willow's role from the Spring Maiden to the Summer Maiden. Mostly because the title seemed more fitting to me, and also because I enjoy the series being at least somewhat close to canon. Sue me.**


	2. Cradle of Glass

**Atlas Undermarket Logs**

 **Dr. Nubia Elmahdi**

 **Report: Seraphim Experiments**

 **Status: Stable**

 **Progress: Exceedingly slow**

 **Subject Four: Stable. No changes, as always. Will continue reports on her as per your command.**

 **Subject Fifty: Restless. Has taken to battering himself against the walls. Supplementary sedatives needed.**

 **Subject Fifty One: Agitated. Subject Fifty's self destruction inciting distress in his cell neighbor. Requesting cell transfer, if possible.**

 **Subject Thirty Three: Critical. Refusing all food and water. Reconsidering last resort to maintain the well being of test subjects. Guidance requested.**

 **Subject Fourteen: Deceased. After weeks of silence, Subject Twelve passed away quietly with no discernable cause of death. Subject Four last survivor of the original Twenty Two. Will keep a closer eye on Subject Four's behavior.**

 **No changes of note for rest of test subjects.**

 **End report**

 **(-)**

Silence. Silence and darkness, the familiar embrace she experienced on a daily basis. Subject Four tested the frail strength in her eyelids. No, she discovered, too hard. Too... Sedated, as they called it. Them. The men and women in the white lab coats, witnessing her torment, yet ignorant to her inaudible pleas. Her finger twitched for a fraction of a moment, an action that went unnoticed. Subject Four submitted, her willpower vanquished. The creeping darkness preyed upon her fragile mind once more.

She hated it, hated everything. Hated life itself. Subject Four yearned for death on many occasions, even now. But the funny little wires penetrating her body ensured her forced survival. Numbness over eternity, mind muddled and murky. Subject Four's consciousness was without complete impairment of the chemicals they injected into her. The fragment of lucid thoughts they had left intact became her demise.

It allowed Subject Four incredible reach with her powers, allowing her to grasp and envision all around her and beyond. But it also left her brain inconsolable due to the constant inactivity, the utter lack of feeling. Emptiness, her faithful tormentor's alias. Torture unparalleled, without end and without mercy. All without a single wound, a single scar, to her scantily clad body as it floated in the thick liquid encasing her like a tomb.

An inaudible gasp forced bubbles of air from her mouth to rise up amongst the liquid she never choked on. A presence her telepathic powers had not yet familiarized. Growing large and larger, closer and closer. She stirred in her forced slumber. _Someone new was coming._ Something _new is coming._

 **(-)**

"Ugh, this place is creepy." Roman Torchwick mumbled to himself during his descent down yet another flight of stairs. He would kill for a smoke, but his employer made it clear such a contamination was prohibited. His cigar pack was so close, just underneath a flap on his overcoat. The crime lord balled his fist to fight off the crave. Roman bit his lip in exchange.

Sorrell Alaric, the grand schemer employing Roman, was not a man to be crossed. He learned that early on. Only mere months into his crime spree, he was approached by the aristocrat and his lucrative business. But after years of working with him, the crime lord couldn't decide if all these restrictions were better or worse for his wellbeing. And now there was the weirdest feeling, nagging the back of his mind.

Roman shook off the shivers running down his spine, opting to drown out the eery atmosphere of these laboratories with a fist against the nearby wall. It hurt a little, the sting reverberating through his arm. The sensation plaguing his mind didn't fade, but he couldn't deny feeling a bit better. He sneezed, shuddering for a moment. "What is with the place..."

He trudged onward, deeper into the underground network of passages. It felt more like wading through a swamp rather than a stroll down stairs and hallways. Whatever fortunes fueled Sorrell's extravagant living chambers far above were not as prevalent down here. Either to save costs or a lack of necessity, Roman figured. The thought didn't come as a surprise to him, it remained alarming when one learns what's kept down here.

He froze after a scientist strolled by. The first sign of life in twelve floors. "This place is getting to me." Roman scoffed under his breath. He continued on, passing by researcher after researcher. His diverse apparel made the crime lord stand out. A fact the dapper crime lord took pride in, but brought only annoyance since not one had pulled themselves away to notice him.

Roman grabbed the closest person in a lab coat by the cuff of his shirt. "Who's in charge around here?" He asked with a lazy, disinterested tone. The hapless scientist trembled in shock, pointing further down the featureless hall. The crime lord released him as thanks and went on his way. His loud footsteps became drowned out in a sea of button pressing, keyboard clacking, and a woman spouting commands ceaselessly.

"She's over stimulated! Keep her dreaming! Increase the sedation injections by twelve percent!" She spoke in a clear voice, yet the hint of panic was obvious. Her skin a dark color, matching her ebony hair, braided as it trailed down her back. A lab coat, like the rest, but something stood out about the mystery woman. "Come on, people, we've gone over this before!"

"Doctor," Another woman began, turning in her chair. "Brainwaves are stabilizing." Roman didn't bother to examine her features, still figuring out who Sorrell sent him to find. Though it wasn't hard to guess at this point.

"Confirmed. Activity levels dropping." Another answered. "She's returning to sleep." The dark haired doctor slumped in her chair, exhausted and relieved. Roman was starting to lose patience.

"So, which one of you is Doctor Almond?" He announced, bringing the settling cluster of scientists to a grinding halt. They all stared back, wide eyed at the crime lord, even the good doctor commanding them. He saw she was fair and beautiful, not a day past thirty. Eyes gold and shining, with bangs trimmed just above her eyes, parting before her temple. The rest of the hair not bound in her braids hung prim and proper adjacent her ears. A dark blue miniskirt with a pale white blouse underneath her lab coat, which she straightened upon rising from her seat.

"I'm Doctor Nubia Elmahdi." She announced with firmness in her voice.

"Oh, my mistake, doc." Roman threw up his hands in a mocking manner. "See, I came from upstairs where your boss sent me to retrieve something." He stamped his cane into the floor, adding "So I don't like my time _wasted_." with a bite to his tone.

The doctor cast his comments aside, walking to the screens other scientists sat in front of. "I see." She answered quietly. Then she muttered to herself, looking between the computers and the glass panel at the front.

Roman glared at her. "You hard of hearing or something?!" He barked.

"Please keep your voice down." Nubia replied gently. Though the remark sounded scolding, she said so with such warmth. It got on his nerves even more.

"Look, lady, I don't like this place! The sooner I'm outta here, the sooner-"

"Ah, of course!" She exclaimed. Her honey colored eyes were focused on him. "How are you feeling? Unease in your stomach? An itching in your head?"

Roman stepped back, scratching said itch in reflex. "Yeah? So?" He grunted, a mild headache attacking him. "What's causing it?"

Nubia smiled sadly. "I'll show you. Brunning, the screen." The fogged window panel Roman ignored until now cleared alongside the sound of pumping waters. He was not prepared for what lay behind the glass. A vat of clear gel caged inside a cylindrical tube eight feet tall and wide. Hundreds of wires and siphons extending from the far sides. All hooked up to a frail girl.

She couldn't have been more than eleven, given her feeble frame. Pale cloth wrapped around her waist and impossibly thin chest. Dark brown hair flowed from her head, spread and dangling inside the liquids keeping her afloat. Words failed the crime lord. Despite his experience in the gritty business of theft, fraud, and the occasional murder, the sight of the poor girl left him speechless.

"Subject Four." The doctor explained. "Possesses incredible Aura reserves. Exquisite use of her prized Semblance. A permanent resident of six years and going." She tried to chuckle, but failed as her eyes blurred with tears. "Her thirteenth birthday will be next month. I call her Alice."

"That's sick..." Roman growled. The doctor flinched and turned away. "Why is she in that? What does her Semblance have to do with this headache?"

"H-her Semblance _is_ the headache. She's... studying you."

" _Excuse me_?!"

Nubia sighed, pulling up a series of notes and logs on a portable screen. "Telepathy. Alice bears a Semblance that has never been heard of before. Only in fiction." Roman turned away from the glass, unable to take his mind off of the child. _Thirteen... And she looks like that_. His hand scrambled inside his pocket, surprising the doctor. When he pulled out a cigar, she stepped forward to stop him. "Smoking is allowed only within the designated-"

"Like I give a damn."

 **(-)**

Subject Four whimpered faintly. The drugs began their work, dulling her already decayed senses. Not one second after the the newcomer arrived, face to face, and the torment continued as if it never stopped. The numbing inside of her, the silence and the darkness swept her away. But Subject Four refused to give in, not out of stubbornness, but desperation.

She tried her best to recall the stranger's mind, his thoughts, his memories, his image. Disgust flooded his mind like a typhoon. Subject Four clung to it like an umbilical cord. Anything to chase away the void drowning her senses. And then, the sedatives crashed into her like a tidal wave, all thoughts escaping her. Only haunting dreams and faded memories lingered.

Dancing on the fringes of her mind, Subject Four held memories of another time. Something bright and shining, high in the sky. Green and soft, blue and wet. Red and stinging. A variety of colors before her eyes, heat and cold dancing on her skin. But Subject Four could not discern them from truth and fabrication. Whether her past was real or not. Whether a future beyond this cradle of glass existed.

 **(-)**

Roman stamped his feet in anger, lashing out as he followed the doctor. All in an attempt to fight off that gruesome image in his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, her form appeared in his vision. He eyed the fair doctor guiding him down the halls. No change in her expression or mood. None whatsoever. He grunted.

Roman knew the kind of dirty business he had conducted. Sometimes for pleasure, sometimes for duty, sometimes for self preservation. But he couldn't think of any good reason to be all right with doing that to a human being. Another reason to dislike pencil pushers. Dr. Elmahdi flipped through papers on a clipboard, all showing gibberish he couldn't understand.

"I'm sorry, but until you complete your business and depart from here, the mild disturbance on your psyche will not leave." She stated clearly. "We've been working on a medication to treat or combat her influence, but progress has been slow."

"Why the hell is she hooked up like that?"

"Alice's Semblance is potent yet volatile and unstable. It is easily within her capabilities to ravage someone's mind." Roman swallowed. "But the damages to herself are something we can't fully predict, either." Dr. Elmahdi sighed sadly, the first sign of emotion Roman had seen from her. "I wish things didn't have to be like this. But it's for the best. It's safer for everyone this way."

Roman couldn't understand this delusional lady. If she felt such empathy for the girl, then let her go. Or at least let her die. But then again-

"But, Sorrell has made his request." She blurted, voicing his concerns. _That'd do it._ Roman still felt queasy from the initial shock. Part of him didn't want to dig any further into this matter. Let sleeping dogs lie, or however the saying goes.

"I take it this has something to do with what I'm delivering to him?" He asked.

The doctor nodded, taking a turn down another hall. Roman could see reinforced glass panels lining the walls. "He desires her Semblance. Which requires for her to be tamed or for the ability to be replicated. I've sent for someone to compile the data, so it should be-"

"Woah woah woah, slow down, sweet cheeks." He paused, pressing a palm against the glass wall while the other gripped her shoulder. " _Replicated_? What're you going on about?" A screeching shriek exploded from the side, followed by an impact that rumbled the wall he leaned against. Roman flinched and pulled away. Another kid was locked away on the other side, his arms bound and wrapped around him. There was a crazed look in his turquoise eyes which never focused. He rammed himself against the wall again.

Dr. Elmahdi pulled up a mic on her collar. "Requesting Dr. Brown in the holding cells. Subject Forty Seven requires sedation. I repeat, requesting Dr. Brown." After that, she tugged at Roman, whisking him away. But even after they escaped the prisoner's line of sight, he still threw himself against the wall again and again. "It breaks my heart every time I come through here." She murmured.

Once again, Roman was speechless. He knew Sorrell was a sinister bastard, but to stoop to this was a low beyond comprehension. _Imprisoning children, and for what? They're useful?_ He could feel his breakfast making its way back up his throat. He tried to turn away, but found only more and more hapless and broken individuals. Some old, some young, some with recent, self inflicted wounds, some wrapped up like the first.

And then Roman saw him. A tall and fit man, red hair like his own and ragged clothes. Huddled in a corner with a chain around his leg. But what froze his blood was the striking resemblance to someone he knew well. " _Boss_?!" He blurted, almost pressing his face against the screen. Sorrell Alaric flinched, and although the calm, arrogant smirk the crime lord came to hate was gone, it was him, no mistake about it.

"Subject Thirty One." Dr. Elmahdi droned with a hollow tone. "Female, late teens. No other information listed on her identity or age. Just like so many others here..."

Roman whipped his head towards her to see the doctor watching the same individual. She wore a sorrowful expression, but she tried to put up a smile, crouching down to meet Sorrell's gaze. When the crime lord looked back, Sorrell's face cracked like a mirror, and then his image melted away, replaced by a small girl.

The girl wore the same rags, but the most notable feature was her multicolored hair. Knotted and messy, her hair took on hues of brown and white and pink. Her eyes flickered with fear as she scurried back, hiding into the corner even more. Roman turned to see the doctor retract her hand.

Clearing her throat, an action the crime lord suspected she did to muster up courage, Dr. Elmahdi whispered "We should keep moving. Our presence only agitates them." She pressed on, hurrying down the hall, but Roman lingered for a moment more. He cast one last glance at Subject Thirty One. The girl flinched, wild terror in her eyes. But also confusion, curiosity. Roman moved on, catching up to the distraught doctor in no time.

"You're awfully sensitive about all this. You a mother or somethin'?"

Nubia laughed nervously. "Goodness, no. I-I mean, I would _like_ to, i-in the future..." She lowered her clipboard, holding it at her waist with modesty. "But it's not just them. The children, I mean. The adults, the elderly... There isn't an age restriction. So long as they catch Sorrell's interest..."

The crime lord tossed aside the cigar butt, lighting another. "You said something about replicating. What exactly _is_ all of this?"

"The Seraphim Experiments." She answered, her tone losing all emotion once again. She spoke as if reciting lines like a robot. "Scientists have longed to understand the anomaly of Aura for ages. Once it is within our understanding, then it is within modification. And once it's within modification, it is one step away from being empowered. One of the key ambitions is the ability to identify, trace, and transfer or even duplicate a Semblance."

Roman glanced back. They passed the last of the cells not long ago. But from the implication, there must have been dozens, maybe even hundreds more imprisoned. He counted himself lucky Sorrell sought him for his indifference towards law and not... He recalled the image of Alice. And then the eyes of the girl with multicolored hair. _To think that I'm in the same boat as them. A slave to the bastard._

 **(-)**

The footsteps retreated further, beyond Subject Thirty One's range of hearing. But the slamming of another prisoner echoed all around her as he repeatedly rammed his surroundings. She clutched at her ears, huddled even tighter than ever. Even with her hands blocking her hearing, it was not enough to combat the howls. Then the first screams were joined by others, a chorus of insanity.

"Over here, Dr. Brown!" She heard, albeit muffled. Subject Thirty One crawled towards the glass screen. There she saw those white coat torturers pry open the door of another cell. Howling became screeching. Screeching became wails. Then the wails turned to silence. They stepped out a moment later and let the door close.

That was the only reason she did not envy those that screamed. This nightmarish place had stripped her of everything. Her memories, her name, her voice. Aside from frail sanity, there was nothing left for them to take. Crying did nothing to save her nor comfort her. But Subject Thirty One could not stop the tears from flowing forth. The hopelessness of it all was dreadful, but the loneliness she felt was unbearable.

Time passed away like in a dream. With everything the same, who was she to know the passage of time? Her tears had stopped, her eyes red and tender to the touch. Emptiness filled her mind and heart, all while she awaited an end. For eternity. She knew that death was key to her salvation, and as time passed, it became the only beacon in her eyes. It could be today, or tomorrow. The only way to measure days was however often those torturers came with food.

And she knew enough to know now would be far too soon. Yet the footsteps of strangers did rise from beyond the hall, striking fear into the girl. Clinging to her chains and her rags, her heart beating like crazy. They were coming. That terrifying man with hair like fire. She cast an illusion of invisibility, a disguise of absolute perfection. For she knew the cracks and crevices of these surrounding walls better than all. If only there was a way to still her beating heart.

Subject Thirty One didn't want to be seen by any. She wanted to hide away, to run and flee. This was her only option. The sounds of boots clacking grew closer. The dark woman passed first. Then, the man with the cane. She held her breath for as long as she could, hoping they would march on. But the man stopped in front of her cell. His green eyes glistened as they seemed to pierce right through her.

She didn't know how it was possible. Her illusion was still strong. He should be seeing only walls and nothing more. Then how- "Don't pretend I don't know you're in there, kid!" He shouted, forcing a gasp from her mouth. He raised his cane and smacked it against the glass a couple of times. The reverberations terrified her. "Show yourself!"

Subject Thirty One let her veil crumble, revealing her cowering. Her hands pressed against her ears, desperate to find her happy place, to run away. But the man kept smacking her cell wall. He was trying to break apart her small and fragile world. The other woman came to her rescue, prying the tool from his hands.

"Stop this at once! How _dare_ you terrorize them! Don't you think they've been through enough?!" He cast a bored eye at her, and then whispered something Subject Thirty One couldn't quite hear. The dark woman gasped, and the prisoner released her ears. "Are you _mad_?!"

"I _said_ open it." He barked. But the woman was having none of it.

"That is not within my authority, and may I remind you, all business involving the subjects must be sanctioned by Mr. Alaric!"

"Ugh-" The man grumbled. "I'll do it myself." And true to his word, that's exactly what the intimidating stranger did. Something exploded from the end of his cane, shaking her entire cell. Scared her heart might give out, Subject Thirty One curled up and shut out the rumbling and shouting. But when she opened her eyes, she saw the glass door, the barricade to her prison, swung wide open. A large crack ran through the surface, but as the stranger held it agape, she saw nothing else binding her to her tiny prison.

The frail prisoner scrambled to escape, praying her weak legs wouldn't give in. No matter how much strength it took, with freedom this close, she had to push herself. A gloved hand blocked her vision, as the stranger called out "Hold it, kid. Not so fast." She whimpered, trying to tear herself away from his clutches, but he could overpower her with such ease. Even so, Subject Thirty One must try.

She felt something warm drape over her body. In the surprise of the moment, her desperation and terror melted away, standing there in a daze. "You'll catch your death of cold down here." She heard him murmur. Her racing heart slowed, and Subject Thirty One found herself drowning in the warmth of his coat. Her feet and legs shivered, suddenly learning of how chilled the air was.

With one arm wrapped around her shoulders to ensure she didn't stumble, he guided her down the hall. "I'm taking this one with me, like it or not."

"Excuse me?! What am I going to tell Sorrell?!"

"Tell 'im whatever the heck you want. Tell 'im the _truth_ , for all I care." Subject Thirty One didn't hear what the lady's response to that was. She didn't even know if the lady said anything at all. All she knew was a realization and a yearning for human contact. The fears in her heart became still, the screams echoing in her head silent. For the first time in possibly forever, she knew peace.

 **(-)**

 **Atlas Undermarket Logs**

 **Dr. Nubia Elmahdi**

 **Report: Kidnapped Test Subject**

 **At thirteen hundred hours present day, one Roman Torchwick escorted Subject Thirty One off the premises. Requesting immediate instruction pertaining to the incident.**

 **Subject Four: Restless. Test subject's brain patterns showing unusual activity. Further investigation required.**

 **I will be arriving shortly for direct consultation.**

 **End report**

 **(-)**

Subject Four dreamt of glass. Fragmented and scattered, floating in her vision. Like a mirror, they sparkled against the dark clouds, reflecting her twisted visage. An expression filled with horror, melting away to reveal her pale skull. She shuddered, crying out into the dark. The terror became chaos, each broken reflection showing a new face, a different emotion. Some screamed, some cried, some cackled with madness. But few were as hollow as the nothingness encasing her.

It overloaded her mind, so many emotions, so little sanity. So little humanity. But when it seemed her dreams would never settle, one by one, the shards glistened. Shining like firelight, the glow pushed back the darkness until it encompassed all, occupying her entire vision. A strange ringing echoed in her head, growing louder and louder. It became a constant hum of some kind, the pitch unchanging yet the intensity all but grew.

She awoke. The haze in her mind began to clear. All was quiet. All was still. Yet the memory of her dreams remained, clear as the glass entombing her. Nothing had changed. Nothing will change. The past, the present, it all remained the same. Looped. But the faintest sliver of hope clung to the fringes of her mind. That light, so dazzling yet so alien. Subject Four wondered what could cause something like that.

She could feel her mind growing clearer. Her powers could not reach the one she sensed earlier. He had gone. _But what was that lingering in his absence?_ That glow, that fading light. All grew quiet as her ears stopped ringing. With her powers as her only means of acquiring information, she searched. And she searched. Further still, the extent of her capabilities stretching to the furthest prison cell. They all replayed a scene that all had witnessed.

A prisoner had escaped. Swept away by the strange newcomer. Subject Four could not believe it, could hardly comprehend such an idea. Escape. All that was truth in her mind, carved in stone from years of deprivation. That freedom was but a flimsy dream. That hope was nowhere to be found. That she would die here. It all crumbled away. She could sense her powers flourishing from her activity. _How many years had passed, yearning for change?_

 _No_ , she realized with a sudden chill. _Hope only exists to be dashed away_. This was another truth that lingered in her mind. Her powers receded, but became frenzied. _Hope is a fallacy. But change..._ Subject Four felt her lips move for the first time in her life. They parted and formed a smile. Change is not impossible. Freedom is a dream. Hope is a lie. And she will perish in this cold and cruel chamber she has known all her life. But she will be a prisoner no more.

A crack formed on the barrier containing her. Those words, those two words, blazing in her mind. _**No more.**_ Another cracked snaked it's way along the glass. Whether she clung to them or they wrapped around her was unclear. _**No more.**_ The glass groaned under the building pressure, no longer stable enough to contain it all. Subject Four flourished with energy, fueled not by desperation, but ecstasy. She found the wires and needles slipping away. _**No more.**_

The glass shattered into a million pieces, and the tide of plasma flowed forth. The white coat men and women backed away while Subject Four's body floated on. She felt the dry air biting at her open and tender skin. So cold and so enticing. Her hand twitched, trying to press on stable ground, before slipping away. A loud gasp escaped her, breathing in real air at last. It was delicious. She found herself panting faster and faster. With the new fount of oxygen rejuvenating her lungs and her brain, she found strength in her twig like limbs.

"Help..." She whispered with a dry voice. As she pushed herself off the ground, her legs refused to obey, crumpled beneath her. Her soaked hair draped over her face blocking all vision. Arms trembling and locked in place, she jerked her head to the closest individual she sensed. "...help..." She murmured again. The stranger kneeled down to grab her arm. The warmth of his skin was unlike anything she felt before. She craved for more. She needed more.

After being hoisted onto her feet, she fell into his chest. She could hear his heartbeat through the fabric. It brought unfathomable delight, and a ravenous desire. As she closed her fist around the clothing, she smiled. And as her grin spread, the man began to shake uncontrollably. Her powers, at the peak of their magnitude, preyed upon his feeble mind. No, she wasn't searching for answers and secrets. She wanted to tear him apart.

They both fell forward, all the while he wailed and howled, scratching at his thinning scalp. Blood trickled from his fingers and his head, before mixing with the fluids from her pod. No one raised a finger. Not that it mattered to Subject Four whether they cower or flee. I _ **will partake. I will help myself to all. I want it all.**_ Subject Four cackled, her laughter echoing off the walls. Drowned out by the encore of screams.

 **(-)**

 _What am I even doing_ , Subject Thirty One found herself wondering, whisked away by the red haired stranger. Up and up and up they had traveled. And when she found her legs weak, he carried her on his back. All so alien to the frail girl. It left her confused and baffled, but with a warm feeling in her chest. Is she free? Or still restricted by this unusual man?

They wandered now on what he declared the streets of Atlas. So many people, so many sights, so many colors. It was everything she had dreamt of. And everything she feared. All her life, Subject Thirty One had known cruelty and subjugation from others. How could she trust others so easily? How many would stop at nothing to torment her? Every face was unfamiliar and unkind.

"Have you decided to tell me your name yet, or are you still gonna keep your mouth shut?" The stranger asked. No, he had introduced himself long before. Roman. Subject Thirty One still didn't know where to stand on this Roman character. She thought on his question. _What good is a name?_ She did not like the idea of titles. It made it sound like she was property. Like she was still property. The girl stared at the cold, hard ground, watching her toes press against the stone with every step.

Roman sighed. Then forced the words "Take your time." _That was frustration_ , she thought. She recognized that manner of speaking. That strained grumbling. Subject Thirty One slowed her pace, giving in to the pain in her feet. Roman's arm pulled her forward. She remembered how, despite being out of her cage, she remained a prisoner by his will. She stopped again, wanting to be free of his reach.

"What's wrong with you?" He barked, stepping in front of her so she could not look anywhere else. She found his eyes to be so formidable. Everything about him was intense and daunting. She shied away. "Well? Speak up. I can't help you if you won't..." Silence. So much murmuring in the background Subject Thirty One hadn't noticed. She looked around, relieved to discover no one paying them any attention.

So strange, how she wanted freedom, but now she wanted only to disappear. The roots of her fears dug deep into her mind. They would not be torn away with only- "Get up here." Roman demanded. He knelt down, swinging her by her arms over his back. With one hand supporting her bottom, he marched on. "You could've told me your feet hurt. There's gotta be a shoe shop or something around here. Maybe get you some clothes while we're at it."

Subject Thirty One's head was spinning. So much all at once with hardly a moment to take it all in. Next thing she knew, her vision was filled with his crimson hair. When her pulse slowed, she had a clearer sight of life from Roman's point of view. So many heads, so many people. So many colors, just like before. But not only the buildings, the hair, as well. Rosy pinks, verdant greens, golden hues and shades of all types.

Then blue, the grandest, most beautiful blue she had ever laid eyes on. Her head flew back, almost falling off, as she tried to take in all of the great sky above. It inspired her, gaping with awe as it stretched across. Back then, there was nothing. Only grey of steel and white coats. Out here was everything. And it went on forever. What else was there to be seen? Her small world suddenly seemed massive. And by extension, she felt puny.

The blue sky was replaced with light browns and dark tiles. Subject Thirty One found herself inside a building once again. "Yo, show me what shoes you got in her size." She heard Roman shout. His voice, she realized, was booming. Even how he spoke demanded attention and recognition. She was relieved from her position on his back, sat upon a bench. A woman came by, hair of gold, with a twisted expression after seeing Subject Thirty One's state.

"What is she _wearing_?" The woman asked in disgust, though her face showed concern more than anything.

"I don't know. Picked her up off the streets."

"You just _stole_ her away from-"

"Lady, you got any shoes or not?" Roman interrupted, raising a teal card between his fingers. That silenced the woman, who hurried off. Roman's hand never left Subject Thirty One's shoulder, though she rarely noticed. Her eyes were too enamored with their surroundings. A large room, one wall made of glass. But every other wall glistened with all manners of lights and footwear. Mirrors and benches and tables everywhere. Her old cell was so empty.

The golden haired woman returned with a strap of some kind. When she reached down at her feet, Subject Thirty One pulled away out of reflex. The woman looked a little hurt. She tried to smile, whispering. "It's all right, dear. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Don't make her do anything she doesn't want to." Roman reminded. Subject Thirty One wondered who the reminder was for. After looking back into the stranger's kind, peach colored eyes, she lowered her foot again. Subject Thirty One looked up at Roman. Now he was glancing out the window. She wondered why. She also noticed his free hand clasping his cane, fingers twitching often. His hand would climb to his chest every now and then, before retracting.

Something else brushed against her foot, that clearly wasn't the lady's hand. It caused Subject Thirty One to flinch. When she looked down, she discovered a boot encasing her left foot. It was light, and soft. She hadn't felt something like it before. Pressing her foot down seemed like the gentle fabric gushed out and kissed between her toes.

"You got plenty to choose from if you don't like em." Roman chimed in, sounding as bored as ever. "Just say the word." But, as usual, Subject Thirty One said nothing. As silent as her old cell.

The woman grew more concerned. "Shouldn't you take her to the hospital?"

"Shh. Don't rush her." Subject Thirty One jumped onto her feet, every step like bliss on her aching feet. She still didn't know how to register it all, mind blank and lips sealed. "Guess we'll take em. Keep the change."

The woman sighed. "You know, this barely covers-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." He replied, already making for the door. In her daze, Subject Thirty One hadn't noticed him pull her away by the arm. She had, however, witnessed him take the black coat off the chair before exiting the building. All while the woman had her back turned. Once outside, she found herself in a trance, still studying her now covered feet. Roman whistled, demanding her attention as usual. He held up several colorful cards pried from the dark coat.

"A little somethin' for me," He muttered, shoving the cards into his pocket. Roman then thrust the black coat to her. "And a little somethin' for _you_. Fifty fifty." Subject Thirty One saw the grin on his face, and she realized she hadn't once seen him smile like this. Even though she hadn't know him long, he always wore a frown or a scowl. But now, seeing him reclaim his own coat from her, she wondered why he hadn't smiled before.

Roman fished out a small brownish object from his breast pocket, but then froze. He turned his eye to her. Then glared. With endless grumbling, he put back the stick and stomped on. This was easier to trust, she realized. So many of those scientists hid behind their false smiles. Portraying that one emotion, what was it... _Pity?_ Just so they could buy her trust. But that line of thinking brought on another thought.

 _Why is Roman doing all this? What does he have to gain? What's his goal? He must have a goal, some desire._ Subject Thirty One realized she didn't want to find out. She remembered wanting to escape from his clutches. To be free. But whatever kept her by his side, she did not know. Only that it brought comfort. "You hungry?" He asked.

Moments later, she sat at another bench beyond the crowd. Subject Thirty One's hands clutched the cane he entrusted to her. It was heavier than she imagined, trying to swing it around in the air. She studied the curve of the handle, bouncing the tip off of the ground. A gust flew by, making the former prisoner shudder and shrink, hugging the cane tight.

When it passed, she noticed how the sky had become a golden bronze. The great blinding light from before had shrunk against the horizon. Something inside her hoped it wouldn't vanish forever. She wanted to see more of it. More of everything the outside world had to offer. More of whatever Roman could show her. She closed her eyes, tightening her hold on his cane. _How long was he gone now?_

"Ugh, there's almost too many people in this place." She found herself smiling upon recognizing the complaining voice. Roman returned, with a multicolored ball on a tan cone. His other hand held multiple wallets. "Almost. I'm so glad these Atlas stuck ups are such easy hits. Here."

The cone was thrust into her face. It had white and dark brown and pink layers to it, all stacked onto this patterned cone. She glanced back at her escort, confused. He was too busy pocketing his prizes. "Didn't know what kind you liked, figured I couldn't go wrong with three in one. Good ol' neapolitan. Unless you've got complaints?" Then he looked up. Then frowned. "What's wrong? You don't like it? Did you at least try it? Go on, taste it."

 _Is that what this was?_ Although hesitant, Subject Thirty One stuck out her tongue and brushed the multicolored surface. It chilled the tip of her tongue, but the taste was indescribable. It was unlike anything she had tasted before. She immediately sunk her teeth into it. And then the waves of pain coursed through her teeth. After wincing and pulling her mouth away, the sting didn't subside.

"You don't _chew_ it, genius." Roman chided with a laugh. "Of course it's gonna kill your teeth." His laughter was cut short, however. Curious, she saw his hand over his chest again. He was thinking about that brown stick. She licked away at the frozen treat, eyes watching him. Finally, he shrugged and pulled out the brown thing again. A moment later, and it was lit up. The tip burned away slowly like nothing she had seen before.

It glowed when Roman pulled it to his lips, a line of smoke trailing the tip. When he let out a sigh of relief, the former prisoner watched him lower it. She drew closer, but discovered it had a foul stench. Covering her nose, she reeled back. Roman smirked at her reaction. "Stick to you ice cream, kid. It suits you better."

She licked away, wondering what he was on about now unaware of her smile. Roman lifted her hair, a motion she allowed without realizing it. She saw the dark, the white, and the pink coiling together in her hair. "See? Just like your little treat." He brought the cigar to his lips again, before frowning. Roman turned away, sighing.

"What the hell am I doing?" He murmured. "Why did I pull you outta there? Sorrell is gonna _kill_ me when I get back." She froze. She always thought he had some kind of plan, or at the very least a reason for rescuing her. If there was no reason...

"You're a heap of trouble, you know that?" He asked with a scowl. "Won't tell me how you feel, not even a thank you. Won't even tell me your name." Subject Thirty One stopped enjoying her ice cream. So, this was his true feelings on it. On her. She was nothing but a burden for him. She knew that, of course. She had nothing. Nothing to thank him, nothing to offer. There was no reason for him to do any of this. And now he's going to send me back-

"It's really up to me to give you a name." Her mind went blank, all past thoughts becoming null. She stared into his eyes, full of mixed hope. " _Ugh_ , what a pain... I'm terrible with these kinds of things. Oh well, at least you can't complain. Neopolitan isn't the worst name in the world, anyway."

The former prisoner blinked in surprise. Flabbergasted and appalled, even if she could speak, she didn't know what to say. "Come on, Neo, I even said it wasn't the _worst_ name in the world." Roman sneered at her, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back. By all accounts, he looked quite pleased with himself. And, true to his words, she did not complain one bit. Neo looked back at the ice cream that shared her hair colors. Another lick to hide her smile.

But the atmosphere changed once Roman cursed under his breath. "Dammit, what are the cops doing _here_?!" He whispered. Neo followed his line of sight, seeing multiple men in official looking clothing, separating them from the normal citizens. They roamed in from their left, and Neo saw more to their right as well. Roman cursed again. "Great, surrounded. They haven't locked onto us, maybe if we-"

Neo latched onto Roman, realizing this was her shining moment. Though he protested out of alarm, drawing the attention of the police, it wouldn't matter. She cupped her hand over his mouth, and then fabricated an illusion concealing them both. The only sound they made was the gentle plop of her ice cream falling to the ground.

They both remained still as a statue while one of the individuals approached. He was holding a paper with Roman's face scribbled onto it. Neo could tell Roman was holding his breath with the officer mere inches from their position. Instead of apprehending the two like he no doubt expected, the officer knelt down to pick up the discarded cone. A glance to his left, then the right. Turning his head this way and that, the officer searched to no avail.

The man gave up, tossing the cone into the trash before signaling to his men to leave. As the police weaved back into the crowd, Roman started to breathe again. Neo still clung to his arm as if her life depended on it. There was no chance of her letting her lifeline to this exciting world be ripped away from her.

 **(-)**

 **Atlas Undermarket Logs**

 **Dr. Nubia Elmahdi**

 **Report: Laboratory Massacre**

 **Situation: Disastrous**

 **After receiving cut off alerts and confirming through the video feed, Subject Four has roamed the laboratories on a warpath. Although contained, Subject Four remains a dangerous threat to any that approach. She has killed not only the researchers, but also her fellow test subjects with no disparage for either.**

 **Subject Twenty Three: Deceased**

 **Subject Twenty Five: Deceased**

 **Subject Thirty Two: Deceased**

 **Subject Thirty Six: Deceased**

 **Subject Thirty Seven: Deceased**

 **Subject Forty-**

Sorrell turned away from the screen, predicting a long list of casualties. There was no need for someone of his importance to waste his time on something like that. The aristocrat instead brought up said cameras. Bloodied messes on every screen. All without substantial damage to the environment or tools. It was rather impressive, he admitted. It was a good thing he invested much into that girl. To think her Semblance held such unrefined offensive potential.

But now, this was a bit of a problem. Subject Four had come to fruition, ripe for the harvesting. The harvesting was the issue. She was still a weak thing, in the physical sense. She could die out far too easily. That aside, he had to regain control of his laboratories. And that called for taking her out. _Oh, but that would be such a waste._

It goes without saying that anyone still down there is considered dead. Which is a shame. So many test subjects. So many Semblances, wasted away. _Ah, yes, not all perished_. "Roman Torchwick..." The name rolled off his tongue with an unusual appreciation. He had a knack for unusual luck; one of the key attributes Sorrell found useful in the amateur criminal. The aristocrat smiled at Roman's apt timing and decision.

"Sir, Dr. Elmahdi has arrived." Midna announced. Sorrell waved her away, fixated on Subject Four's aftermath. Even as the doors opened behind him and the doctor entered, he could not pull himself away.

"Sir!" The doctor blurted. "I am so sorry! Please, allow me to take responsibility for all of this!"

"I received your report, moments ago." He said, ignoring her initial statement. "Can you tell me what he's up to?"

" _'He'_? Wh-who do you mean?"

"Roman. Roman Torchwick." The aristocrat pulled up the earlier report detailing the assisted escape. "Where did he happen to whisk Subject Thirty One to?"

"Sir? But what about... Isn't Subject Four running amok a more pressing-"

"Must I repeat myself?" Sorrell posed the question with such gentleness, turning to the fair doctor with a calm expression. Dr. Elmahdi flustered, quickly shaking her head.

"I-I have received word from others that he has taken her topside. To Atlas."

"But _where_?" He continued with a heavy and impatient tone.

The doctor pulled out a small, portable screen in a hurry. Sorrell tapped his finger against the arm of his chair with excitement. The casualties were detrimental. The cause was what interested him. Dr. Elmahdi finished, looking up at the screen behind him. And there, clear as day, stood Roman. Waltzing through the crowd without a care in the world, the escaped prisoner at his side. She wore such a bright and warm smile while the crime lord rambled on and on.

Sorrell could not fathom it. The confusion caused him to frown. Dr. Elmahdi explained "Reports from the surveillance team claim he purchased shoes for her, and then ice cream."

" _Ice cream_? What in Remnant is he thinking?" Sorrell crossed his legs, vexed by Subject Thirty One's smile. She stared up at Roman with sparkles in her eyes. But it wasn't infatuation. There was something lurking inside, this great hunger. _But for what?_ The darkness she ran from still clung to the vestiges of her mind. _Does she seek... Ah. Yes..._

The aristocrat rose from his throne, cane in hand, and marched past Midna and Nubia. Midna began to follow, but Sorrell raised a hand to stop her. The doctor stammered "Wh-where are you going?"

"I'm going to pay our little prisoner a visit."

" _What_?! She's enraged! If you go there, Alice will-" She shook her head. "Subject Four will be your end!"

He stamped the cane into the ground, silencing her. Stopped in his tracks, he turned to glance at her through the corner of his eye. "Tell me, doctor. You were researching ways to combat her Semblance?"

"Y-yes, but-"

"Let me test out the prototype, then."

"Sir-"

"Now, _Nubia_." Sorrell growled. And then showed her the warmest of smiles. "I would gladly gamble my life on it."

 **(-)**

Cold. So cold, so very cold. Subject Four let out a crippling shudder, her very breath like ice on her skin. She wrapped her thin arms around her, huddling closer for warmth. Everything was so warm, so vivid. Like a dream, a fantasy. Except real. And now, as she sat against a wall splattered by blood, surrounded by corpses, the dream came to an end. And only nightmares will claim her sanity now.

 _How cruel. How just. How bittersweet._ That her last day alive would be her greatest. She never felt so alive. Such is the price for feeling so dead right now. _But it would all be all right_ , she thought as she studied her bloodied hands. There will be peace at last, in death. In the void.

Subject Four let loose a blood curdling howl, her eyes wide with terror. It softened into whimpering, quiet against the still silent room. Quiet. So quiet, everything is so still. Her murmuring became wails, while she battered herself. _Pain. This pain. I am alive. I am still alive. But why? Why why why why... I don't want to be alive. I can't stand being alive. So much fear. So much darkness._

 _ **I don't want to die.**_ Amidst a field of blood and death, Subject Four wailed into the silence, unable to do anything else. She was free. And yet a prisoner. _Freedom was a lie. I will never be free. Of my prison. Of my fears_. All her life, she has known terror and insanity. And even in death, it will follow her to her grave.

She gasped, eyes opening. Something tugged at her mind. Not hope, nor peace. Bliss and ecstasy. Someone new is coming. Someone new to destroy. A final blessing before her demise. Something to fight off the darkness before it claims her, heart and soul. Subject Four frisked the floor for anything sharp. A stabbing pain erupted in her hand.

She looked down at her raised palm, a long and narrow shard of glass jutting out of her palm. It hurt, so terribly so. Even more when she tried to pull it out. Blood dripped down her fingers and trickled out of her hand. So warm. She thrived on the sensation ringing in her brain. A relay to her brain that she must not do that. Must not touch glass. Must not die. A most egregious feeling.

With a newfound rejuvenating joy, she stood on wobbly legs. Eyes wide, Subject Four wobbled towards the door she sensed the target lay behind. She managed four steps before falling to her knees. No, something was off. Something was wrong, so terribly wrong. She could sense the new arrival. But it was like his mind was locked behind iron doors. Barricaded. She could not breach him. She could not destroy him.

She looked up to see the most beautiful man she had laid eyes upon. Hair red like blood, hazel eyes, and the most curious smile. Despite her ragged state, he did not shy away or even turn his nose. Stranger still, his eyes drank in everything about her. Her powers scrambled for anything to latch onto. But there was nothing. Only... Arrogance.

"Well, now." He said, voice illustrious and harmonious. "You've been busy." After glancing around, he crouched down, dipping a knee into the pool of blood she slathered in. His eyes burned into hers. _Forget his mind. I will rip out his heart!_ Subject Four raised the glass, still drenched in her blood. He caught her arm before it could strike his neck.

His gaze traveled up her arm, and then he smiled at her. "And what were you planning to do with that, young lady?" Growing infuriated, she flailed around, trying to break free. Trying to kill him. But her powers had failed her, as had her frailty. But while life still lingered in her, she will fight and struggle and squirm.

"So fiery. So driven." Every word rolled off his tongue like music.

"Die..." She whispered, though her throat stung. "Die." She repeated.

"You intend to kill me? Oh, you poor, little fool. But _then_ what? You will linger. You will thirst. And then you will die."

" _Die!_ " She bellowed with her coarse voice, the glass now discarded as she pounded against his chest. Subject Four collapsed into him, trembling. Death is all she had known. Death is all she will know. There is nothing outside of that. No hope, no joy, no life. Not while the madness ravaged her.

"Did you never wonder, in all your murderous rampage, what might be out there? There are whole _worlds_ beyond these cold, steel walls. Even in here, there is life, there is warmth. For here I am. And here you are." His words, he understood them all, but refused to acknowledge them. _He is one of them. He will only tell lies and half truths_.

" _Listen_." He whispered. "Listen close..." The stranger wrapped his arms around her, petting her matted hair. "And you, too, will hear." She gave in, feeling faint. His very touch was more gentle than anything she had experienced before. And then, with her ear against his chest, she heard it. The quiet beating, like drums. Always unchanging, always there.

She could hear her own. As though a veil had been lifted, she could hear her own heartbeat, suddenly so loud. It hammered rapidly, unlike his still and comforting rhythm. Over time, hers slowed, as her eyes shut. Subject Four's hands closed around his dirtied apparel as he lifted her up. And then, she heard his voice, somehow so distant.

"My name is Sorrell. Will you come with me to the surface?" He asked.

She moaned, finding it difficult to think. _**Name... What's that?**_

Then she heard chuckling. Her mind grew still, senses dull and faint. They sensed his own, his mind, and his thoughts. _**Atlas Undermarket Logs. Sorrell Alaric. Report... Seraphina.**_ She saw an image in his mind, of white clouds and parchment cloth, draped over a burning, pure figure. Wings extended forth in blinding light. It was one of the last things she saw before drifting to sleep.

 _ **Status... Salvageable**_

 **(A/N: Welp, the second chapter for the GHS Chronicles is finally out. After over half a year of the first one. I am _really_ bad at this. Anyways, much like with the first, if there's any questions or anything you guys want to know, go ahead and ask away. Also, maybe suggestions for who you'd like to read about next. **

**Haaa just kidding, I already have a plan for the order of the next few characters. See you in another year, at this rate.)**


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